Meg & Seron: Secret of the Firefly
by Historyman101
Summary: PLEASE READ & REVIEW! The first Meg & Seron fanfiction ever. Seron buys a model ship to impress Meg at a market, but there is more to this model ship than meets the eye as they become mixed up in an adventure neither of them could have imagined...COMPLETE
1. Chapter 1: Don't Give Up The Ship

Author's Note: Shortly after watching Allison and Lillia, I scrounged around for the light novels and hoped to find someone with the novels translated to English. Sadly I've had no luck so far, but there is a movement afoot on baka-tsuki to get the novels translated (if you can read and translate Japanese please visit our forums and help us out!). On the way, I did discover the subsequent _Meg and Seron_ novels that were published after _Lillia and Treize_.

For those who need a refreshing of memory, Meg is one of Lillia's friends from school who is from Sous-Beil, and Seron is her classmate from Roxche. The whole plot of the novel series involves Seron falling in love with Meg at first sight and trying to get close to her to ask her out. They join the school journalism club along with three other kids and solve mysteries for the school newspaper. It's pretty light stuff compared to Allison's and Lillia's adventures, but still very entertaining (from what little I can understand of it).

Seeing as how they fit into the A&L canon, I thought it only natural to write a story for Meg and Seron. So here they are, in their greatest adventure yet and their first fanfiction ever! Since I have no information about the books other than what I've read in reviews, some characters may be OOC and I might get some facts wrong. I apologize if that happens and please correct me so I can edit it.

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><p>Disclaimer: I do not own the <em>Allison and Lillia<em> anime produced by Madhouse, nor do I own the _Meg and Seron_ novels written by Keiichi Sigsawa. I wish I did though. They must be great books.

**Meg and Seron: Secret of the Firefly**

**By Jordan Harms**

**Chapter One: Don't Give Up the Ship**

**Late March, 3306 World Calendar.**

The black-haired boy's stern and stoic cobalt eyes darted around the Capital Market, looking for anything potentially to buy. He had hitched a ride with his friend Larry Hepburn on his motorcycle earlier that day since he had something he wanted to get from the market as well. They agreed to split up and find anything they fancied and meet back at the motorcycle. So far, he was not having much luck.

He was out of his school uniform, since it was a Sunday and there were no classes for the weekend. Instead he had his usual street clothes: a plain white button-down shirt, dark khaki knickerbockers and white socks encased in black oxford shoes. He wore a light brown trench coat, since he heard through the radio of scattered rainstorms in the area. It served to further draw attention to himself, however, as all others in this meeting of merchants and buyers wore summer clothes. It also called further to attention his ambiguity, his silence, his mystery that followed him wherever he went.

Since his family estate was so far away from school, he figured it made no sense to go back such a long distance every weekend. Instead he only went home for vacations lasting more than two weeks, in winter and summer. He didn't mind it at all; school and the nearby Capital was quite entertaining, especially since one person that captivated his heart and his soul studied with him there. Sadly, she was not with him this day as she was out with a classmate, Lillia Schultz. In a way it was a relief for him, since he had enough time to plan out the next phase of his becoming closer to the one girl for whom he had undertaken everything in school thus far. Perhaps in this market he could find something that would show her what she meant to him.

Springtime was always a big season for merchants in the Capital, many of them coming from as far away as Ikstova to sell their goods and services to passersby. Sometimes even Bezelese merchants would come across the river to try their hand selling foreign goods to interested clienteles. One of the stories of a continent that had finally found peace after more than a century of war played out around him as he trotted along the pavement and searched through kiosk after kiosk for something, anything, that piqued his interest.

He passed by a row of mirrors, and, noticing an imperfection in his ebony black hair smoothed it out with the palm of his hand as he walked past it. Suddenly he stopped, and noticed something in the mirrors.

In its reflection, he saw a beautiful scale model of an old ship sealed in a Plexiglas case. The ship looked to be a heavy battle cruiser of the kind that often ruled the currents of the river in the days when the continent was not free from the dogs of war. She had a red hull below the waterline and was painted in gunmetal grey. On her forward mast she flew the flag of Sous-Beil, the nation of his beloved and his despair in this life.

"Such a fine ship…" he said, as he turned around to examine the real thing.

The vendor of the ship, an elderly bespectacled man grasping a pipe in his teeth greeted the young student with a kind sage grin.

"She's a beauty, isn't she?"

"Indeed she is," he returned, not changing the stoic expression in his face while secretly, if one looked closely, his eyes were wide as saucers in amazement of such fine crafting and meticulous building.

The ship truly was beautiful, and bore a strong likeness to the object of his affections. Both were graceful, majestic and elegant. She was everything he could want in a companion, and the ship reflected all of her good qualities in it. It was not with an ounce of trepidation that the boy chose this as the perfect gift for her.

"Meg would love this," he whispered to himself.

"What's that, young man?" the bespectacled vendor asked.

"I said how much is the ship?"

"50 rubles. It's a very unique specimen. It's an old Bezelese battle cruiser that was sunk in the River War."

"45 rubles," the boy countered.

"47."

"46 and half."

"Done," the vendor said, smiling. "Yours for 46 rubles, 50 kopecks."

The vendor removed the model from the case and handed it to the boy as the boy fished out his wallet and the necessary money to pay. Just then a middle-aged black-haired gentleman with a goatee dressed in a grey coat and derby hat came by, obviously keen on buying that same ship.

"How much for the model?"

"I'm terribly sorry, sir," the vendor said, frowning gesturing towards the boy, "I just sold it to this young man."

The goateed gentleman turned to the boy with examining and dissecting brown eyes.

"I'll buy it from you. Name your price."

"I'm sorry, sir, but I don't wish to sell," the boy said finitely as he started to walk back in the direction of Larry's motorcycle.

"Look here, young man," said the goateed man, persistently. "I'm a collector of model ships. How much did you pay for that? I'll give you double."

"The offer is very kind, sir," the boy rebuffed, not changing his stoic expression, "but I'm keeping this ship."

As soon as the boy rejected his offer, another man, younger with auburn hair, and in a brown suit and fedora rushed over to the two men and immediately searched his coat pocket for his wallet.

"How much for the model?" he asked hastily.

"It's not for sale," the boy said, his patience beginning to buckle.

The two men hounded the young boy as he continued to walk through the market and back to his friend waiting on a street corner with his motorcycle. He never once even grew a scowl and or twitched as they threw increasingly larger offers his way in exchange for parting with this gift intended for his secret beloved. Do these men even know of the concept of gift exchange? Does everything in this world have a price?

"I'll give 80 rubles for it!" the goateed man offered.

"90 rubles!" the man in the brown suit countered.

"No!" the boy declined, his tolerance already wearing thin.

"100!" the goateed man bribed.

At that, the boy stamped his foot on the ground and turned to the two men, and in a rare moment of the boy's life, he actually scowled as his cobalt eyes shot poison darts at them.

"Look here: I bought this ship as a gift for a friend. I don't wish to sell, so please stop harassing me!"

He left the two men there stunned and confounded as he turned on his heel and carried the ship with him back to his friend Larry, who was now waiting for him beside the school-issue green Brough Superior motorcycle, carrying two cardboard boxes under his arm.

Larry likewise was out of his school uniform, and dressed in normal street clothes. A brown Gatsby hat concealed his cropped blonde hair and shielded his blue eyes from the rays of the springtime sun. Larry similarly wore a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up and tucked into brown knickerbockers, and black calf-length socks. The boy noted how anywhere else he would fit as a newsboy of the kind seen in film.

"Find anything good, Seron?" Larry asked as he loaded his new possessions into the small basket behind the driver seat.

"Just one: this ship," Seron replied, showing the newly acquired model ship that had just before been the cause of such ire for him.

"She's a real beauty," Larry said smiling looking at the masterpiece of craftsmanship he held in his hands. "It'll make a good addition to your dorm."

Seron was about to correct Larry about the purpose of this newly bought model when he heard a familiar voice he wished would go away.

"Excuse me…"

He turned to his right to find the goateed man again, wearing a saccharine smile that mentally incensed Seron. Regardless, he did not change the blank expression on his face intent on remaining composed and keeping the patience he had just gotten back.

"I apologize, it's me again," the goateed man greeted.

"I already told you—" Seron began with a hint of agitation in his voice, but the goateed man raised a hand.

"Forgive me for being so insistent. But as I explained, I'm a collector of model ships, and I would be so very grateful if you were to sell me your ship."

"As _I _explained," Seron rebutted, obviously not desiring to be there any longer, "I bought it for a friend—"

"Exactly!" the goateed man interjected. "Now, I have plenty of other ships just as good as yours, and we could trade them so your friend…"

Seron raised a hand, indicating him to stop.

"Please, sir," he said finitely, "don't go on. I tell you, I'm not interested and I wish to keep this ship."

"Very well," the goateed man relented as he reached into his coat pocket. "But do think it over. I'll give you my card so you can contact me if you change your mind."

He handed Seron a small business card which he shoved disinterestedly into his trench coat pocket.

"I wouldn't count on it," he cautioned.

"Well, I shall hope."

"Good day to you, sir."

Seron got into the sidecar of the motorcycle, with the model ship still in hand. He let out an exasperated groan, hinting at how befuddled he was at the two men's insistence on getting his ship.

"Let's get out of here, Larry. Before he comes back."

"You got it, pal."

Larry hopped on the driver's seat and revved the engine before turning to the right and heading down the main boulevard, out of the capital and towards their school. As they accelerated and managed to evade the traffic around Capital Square, Larry and Seron continued their chat about the mystery of the model ship.

"Who _was_ that guy anyway?" Larry queried.

"Like I would know," Seron retorted, sighing heavily. "All I know is I buy the ship, and not long after I buy it, two men are hounding me to sell it to them."

Larry chortled at the small anecdote.

"The nerve of some people."

"That's not what has me vexed," Seron continued. "What's strange to me is why those two were so anxious to buy my ship. What's so special about it?"

"Maybe it's a rare model. How much did you pay for it?"

"I haggled and got it for 46.50. Pretty cheap for a rare model."

"Yeah," Larry concurred, recounting some personal experience with the subject. "A family friend got a rare model once, and they usually run up as high as 450 rubles!"

"So if isn't because it's rare, then what?"

Larry laughed, noting Seron's habit of searching for the truth and how often it had gotten him and their newspaper club into trouble in the past.

"Seron, my friend, you're looking for mysteries in all the wrong places."

"Perhaps," he admitted, "but that doesn't mean I can't still wonder…"

Larry nodded and after a short pause, changed the subject of conversation with his friend.

"So you bought it for a friend, eh?"

"You should know who I bought it for, Larry."

Larry threw his head back and laughed again, this time at what was another persistent attempt by Seron to woo Megmica Straussky, the object of his affections for what had seemed like years. Seron was always trying to find ways to gain Meg's favor and bring them closer together. Being in the newspaper club and playing the part of school sleuth with her was a good start, and they were already on good terms, but he wanted something more. She knew nothing of it, and until he found a way, she had to be in the dark.

"I'm not sure model battleships are the best way to impress a girl, Seron. I'd figure something more…feminine."

"But this ship _is_ feminine!" Seron purported. "She is everything Meg is: beautiful, graceful and majestic! Besides, it's a Bezelese battle cruiser, and we know Meg is from across the river. So it must have _some _appeal…"

"Okay, okay, if you think so," Larry chuckled, trying hard to concentrate on driving while listening to Seron's humorous comparisons. "All of this over a model…"

They arrived at the school campus and brought in the motorcycle through the back way into the lot marked **STUDENT PARKING** in Roxchean. After powering down and offloading the motorcycle, the two young boys walked towards their dormitories with their newly acquired bargain possessions in tow.

The school dorms were normally divided into individual quarters for one student each, except for suites which usually housed four or five students at a time. Larry and Seron's dorm was a 2-student suite sharing a bath, and marked by separate room numbers. Theirs was on the top floor of the building and near the stairwell. Sadly there was no elevator, a decision made by the school staff to encourage the students to exercise on the stairs. This was decried by the students who called for an elevator when moving into dorms. Many students chose to customize and add personal flair to their living quarters, particularly a piece of home.

That fact only further galvanized Seron in his belief that Meg would accept his gift. Since it was a Bezelese ship, it would surely give her a reminder of home. And whenever she looked at this ship, she would remember that it was Seron who gave it to her.

In his head angels blew trumpets of triumph and he danced a merry jig at the thought of Meg thanking him for his gift. Now he only had to find her and present it.

They entered their dorm room and Seron immediately made for the chest of drawers to set down his newly acquired ship. He hoped that Meg would not be gone all day, and he would have a chance to give it to her before the weekend was out and both were once again swamped with classes.

He wished away the negative voices in his head as he set down the model, but just then Larry accidentally bumped into the chest of drawers. The vibration caused the model to fall over the edge and landed on the floor with a crash.

"Oh no, the model!"

Larry put down his boxes and saw his distraught friend knelt down on the floor, looking over his new ship. It lay on its side with most of the body intact, but the smokestack had been broken off the ship, and needed mending.

"Larry," Seron said with urgency while still keeping a calm disposition, "can you get some glue out of your dorm room?"

"Sure, Seron. I'll be right back."

Just as his fears were taking hold, he heard a motorcycle drive up. He rushed towards the windows and looked into the student parking lot and saw the sight that made him mentally jump with joy and fill him with anxiety at the same time.

"Hurry up, Larry. Meg just got here…" Seron warned.

"I'll take care of it, pal. You go meet Meg."

Seron took his friend at his word and ran out the door and down the stairway to the front steps, catching Meg as she waved goodbye to her friend Lillia as she walked away from the motorcycle in the direction of her dormitory.

Meg was out of her school uniform and in her best Sunday clothes which served to entice and allure Seron. She had a beautiful violet dress with puffy sleeves and a frilled hemline, something that brought out the violet hue of her dark locks and her indigo eyes. As she walked towards the dormitory and ran into Seron, she smiled and waved, as Seron's heart ached and skipped a beat.

"Hi, Seron!" she greeted energetically. "How are you doing today?"

Seron felt his knees shake and his throat stiffen at the joyous and melodic sound of her name calling him. If only she could call him as he wanted her to. Swallowing a lump in his throat, he slowly formed a sentence, fighting silent battles against the enemy of nerves and anxiety in the presence of his beloved.

"I'm…fine. How are you?"

"Oh, I'm doing well. Lillia and I went to Hessler Park nearby, so it was very peaceful there."

"It sounds…that way," he eked out. "Say, Meg, do you…have a moment to spare?"

"Sure, Seron," she answered with a smile and a twinkle in her dark navy eyes. "What is it?"

"I…have something…I want to show you."

"You do?" she chirped, her voice excited with curiosity.

Seron stifled a moan at her syrupy sweet words and hesitantly took her hand.

"Come with me…to my dorm."

He led her into the boys' residence hall and up to the top floor where his and Larry's dormitory stood. He opened the door and showed her in.

"I was…in the Capital today, and I saw something…I thought you might like."

He saw the model ship (which had been repaired just in time, much to his relief), and indicated it to Meg. Meg's eyes immediately widened as she smiled in delight and gasped in surprise.

"Seron, it's beautiful! You bought this for me?"

"Yes…I thought…you would like it."

"Thank you so much! It's such a magnificent ship!"

Meg skipped over to the chest of drawers and examined the ship closely, her navy eyes the size of saucers in amazement and awe of the masterpiece of craftsmanship Seron had picked out for her. Seron was quietly tripping the light fantastic in his head at how much Meg had taken a liking to her gift. In his mind he was on his way to winning her heart and another step closer to him working up the courage to say what he felt in his heart. Then her lips parted in a gasp of astonishment, as if the ship had revealed some great unknown truth in that moment.

"Seron, where did you say you bought this ship?"

"At the Capital Market. Why?"

"It's astounding!" she said, stepping back and putting her hands on hips. "What a remarkable coincidence!"

Seron raised an eyebrow inquisitively, his own curiosity piquing as to what Meg found so remarkable about the ship. If he hadn't have known, she was acting much the same way the two men were when they were so anxious to buy the model as soon as he had purchased it. Then Meg did something that caught Seron off-guard.

She took his hand and said,

"You have to come with me, Seron! I have something to show you too!"

Seron's body shook in nervousness as he was not expecting to be invited…back to her dorm room. He had a feeling Meg would like his gift, but he never once suspected that it would be enough to warrant a visit to her dorm room. This would be his first time in a girl's room. What would he do? What could he say? And what exactly did she have planned?

All these questions sped through his brain at the speed of light as Meg led him out the back of the boys' residence hall and into the girls'. Perhaps this was it, he thought as she led him up the stairs to the third floor, where her dormitory was. Maybe she was about to come out to him and the only place where they could work out the details of their future relations were in the privacy of her dorm. Seron's whole body shook like an paint mixer at the thought of this being the final moment, the moment he had been waiting for more than a year to come.

Meg opened the door, and Seron was immediately greeted by the plush look of her dorm room and how it seemed to fit Meg's personality to the letter. There was lace and frills everywhere he turned and saw that her bed had curtains around them, like the kind seen in bedrooms of royalty and white frilled window curtains. Paintings and photographs, presumably of family, hung everywhere about the room and Meg pointed to one portrait in particular.

It was a man in his mid 50s with a black beard and full head of hair, tinged violet like Meg's, and deep blue eyes, bluer than the waters of the Lutoni River, that seemed to stare down at and right through the two young people. He wore an old naval uniform of regal white and gold piping with what looked like a officer's hat bearing the crest of Sous-Beil, the curved saber. In his hand he held an officer's sword and scabbard, much like a king with his scepter. In the background, the waves of the Lutoni River seemed to lap at the frame as a formidable ship sailed in the distance.

"Who is he, Meg?" Seron asked curiously. "A relative?"

"Yes," she answered smiling at him. "He's my grandfather, Maximilian Straussky. He was a captain in the Royal Navy of Sous-Beil during the war."

"I…can definitely see the resemblance," Seron said slowly, entranced by the stare of her ancestor looking down at him as if entrusting his granddaughter to him.

"But that's not what's amazing. Look at the ship in the background."

Seron turned his attention to said ship, and looked closely. The warship was gunmetal grey and looked to be a battle cruiser. The ship flew the banner of Sous-Beil from its forward masts with a tall smokestack amidships. If one looked closely, one could see Seron's cobalt eyes widen in surprise and his mouth part in astonishment.

"It's just like the model…"

"I know!" Meg said, equally surprised. "It's exactly the same, virtually identical! It's an amazing coincidence!"

Seron's eyes squinted as he eyed the ship's stern, finding its name written in Bezelese.

"There's a name too, written in tiny letters…"

He indicated the name to her, and Meg slowly read it out.

"Firefly…odd. I never noticed the name before."

"I wonder…" Seron pondered, "if the model has the same name."

Then he remembered it was back in his room.

"I should have brought it," he lamented. "Wait here, Meg. I'll be right back."

He exited from Meg's room and quickly made his way out the front entrance towards the boys' residence hall. It would be so funny if his model had the same name on it as the ship in the portrait. They could have a good laugh about it, and at the same time have some more time to themselves. Seron's mind raced with the plethora of opportunities of gaining Meg's favor presented to him as he trotted up the stairway and towards his dormitory, expecting to see the model ship ready to be picked up and compared.

But what Seron saw instead left him aghast and frozen in shock.

The ship was gone, and the chest of drawers upon which he left it was as bare as the deserts were dry.

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><p>AN: Got you with the cliffhanger didn't I? Well, this is just the start, and there is plenty more adventure in store for Meg and Seron before this story is over. So where did Seron's model go? Find out next time!

Thanks for reading and please review!


	2. Chapter 2: The Pieces and Missing Puzzle

**Chapter Two: The Pieces and the Missing Puzzle**

Seron was shocked and dumbfounded to say the least. Where on earth could the model have gone? He was sure beyond any shadow of reasonable doubt he left the ship right here on the chest of drawers. Inside his psyche Seron felt like he had been run over by a tank and then blown to smithereens by its cannon. What would he say to Meg? How would Meg react? He couldn't help but get this sense of castigation in her eyes for losing such a valuable and important gift for her.

He had to find out what happened to the model.

"Larry!" he called to his friend in the adjacent dormitory. "Did you move the model?"

"No," Larry answered through the shared bathroom door. "Why?"

"It's not here anymore! It's gone!"

Larry opened the bathroom door and his blue eyes popped out in surprise as his cropped blonde hair seemed to stand on end.

"But it's impossible!" Larry protested, pointing to the chest of drawers. "I left the ship right there after I fixed the smokestack!"

Seron quickly tried to come up with a plausible explanation. No, there was only one way this could be explained, but he had to gain the facts first from Larry.

"Larry, when Meg and I left for her dorm room, where were you?"

"I had gone to the snack room on the bottom floor to get something to eat," Larry said matter-of-factly.

"How long do you think you were down there?"

"Maybe 10, 15 minutes."

"That would be enough time…" Seron acknowledged, hinting at something Larry didn't have a firm grasp of.

"Time? Time for what? Are you suspecting me, pal?"

"Not at all," Seron protested, not wishing to earn the enmity of his closest and most trusted friend. "But I _do _think something is up…"

Without an ounce of consternation he rushed to the phone on the nightstand next to his bed and immediately phoned Meg's dormitory. After a few beeps to indicate the line was ringing, Meg's cheerful and optimistic voice answered. Seron once again stifled a moan at the sound of her voice as he felt his heart try to fly out of his chest.

"Hello?" her voice chirped, bright and luminous as a fairy's glow.

"Meg?" Seron answered, his voice even keeled and trying hard to keep a calm temperament.

"Hi Seron! What's up?"

"Something bad has happened…with the model."

"What is it?" she asked, her voice piquing with concern and worry.

"The model's gone. It's not here."

"You mean…stolen?" Meg continued, Seron feeling her little pure heart breaking at the prospect of his gift to her swiped just as soon as she had gotten it.

"I'm afraid so. I came back to the dorm just now and I found the model was gone."

"Do you suspect anyone?"

A fair question. Seron searched through his memory and his catalog of personages who could possibly want to steal his model. No one in particular came to mind…at least…no one he knew. As he tried to come up with a satisfactory answer for Meg, he shoved his hand into his trench coat pocket and immediately felt a small business card. He brought it out of its dark clothed sanctuary and to his scrutinizing cobalt eyes, silently reading the name of his first and new primary suspect.

_Sergei Petrovich Kozin_

_Collector_

_42 Oak Avenue, Roxche FC _

(A/N: FC stands for Federal Capital. There was never a name given to the Roxchean capital so I just assumed it's only called the Federal Capital. Someone please confirm this.)

"There is _one _person who could've done it…"

"Who?" Meg asked curiously.

"L-listen, Meg. I have to go. I'll…call you back later."

"Wait, Seron!"

He hung up and called out once again to his friend as he buttoned his trench coat and committed the address on the card to memory.

"Larry, look after the dorm while I'm gone."

"Where you going?"

"To hunt down my model pilferer…"

Without another word, he bolted out the door and flew down the stairwell to the student parking lot. He looked around and spotted Larry's green motorcycle. He immediately hopped in and zoomed out of the campus and towards the Capital as he black hair flew behind him and the hems of his trench coat flapping in the wind. As he drove into the downtown district and made for the address on the card, Seron pondered and posited what could have motivated the goateed man from the market to take his model.

It _had_ to be him, he was certain of it. He was so insistent on buying the model from Seron, so what was stopping him from coming by the dorm and swiping it? Though it did make him wonder why Mr. Kozin gave him his card if he was just going to steal it from him. Perhaps it was a ruse to persuade him into selling the ship in exchange for one of his models. It was a farfetched motive, but it seemed to make the most sense to Seron as he turned a corner and approached residential flat of his alleged thief. He parked the motorcycle on the side of the road and dismounted as one would a horse, walking with his stern and stoic cobalt eyes on the flat.

"Just you wait, Mr. Sergei Petrovich Kozin," Seron muttered to himself as he approached the front entrance.

He rang the doorbell and awaited the arrival of his suspected culprit. He had a feeling that Mr. Kozin would be very surprised to see him at his front doorstep, having caught him red-handed and with all the incriminating evidence necessary to have him brought before a magistrate.

Sure enough, the goateed gentleman answered sporting his saccharine smile that shone like a gilded coins through his ebony black beard, his dissecting eyes magnified behind reading glasses.

"Ah," Mr. Kozin greeted smiling knowingly, "there you are, young man. Do come in…I've been expecting you."

Seron was flabbergasted to find Mr. Kozin seeing his arrival from a mile away. It started to herald doubt in his head if this unassuming collector was the criminal he was after.

"Expecting me, Mr. Kozin?" Seron queried, confusing shining through his pokerfaced expression. "Then you know why I've come…"

He stepped into the flat and found it very plain and inconspicuous, quite in contrast to what Seron thought his flat would look like. He figured it would be decked with all manner of goods that he may have stolen previously and displayed as if they were all his. Instead he found nothing but striped wallpaper and a hard wood floor.

"Of course," Mr. Kozin continued, "you've come to tell me that you'll sell me your ship after all…"

"Certainly not," Seron answered without a hint of compromise.

"Not?" Mr. Kozin repeated, puzzled. "Then I don't understand…"

"Is that room where you keep your collection?" Seron inquired, pointing to the room marked **DISPLAY** in bold Roxchean. "I'll have you know, sir, that shortly after I returned from the market, my ship was stolen…"

He entered the room and immediately spotted the convicting evidence he needed right in the center of the room. It was a scale model of a Bezelese battle cruiser, painted gunmetal grey with a red waterline hull and a tall smokestack amidships. He was now firm in his belief he had caught the criminal in the act. Pointing to it, he demanded from Mr. Kozin,

"…and I'm waiting for you to explain how it happens to be here!"

Mr. Kozin was dumbfounded, and appeared sincere in his attempts to explain to Seron as he examined the model.

"I'm afraid you're mistaken, young man," Mr. Kozin said his eyes widening in astonishment at the accusations leveled against him. "I've had this ship for more than 10 years now."

"10 years?" Seron said, obviously skeptical. "But you were trying to buy this ship from me not two hours ago!"

"Oh," Mr. Kozin disclosed, seeing Seron's misapprehension, "but this wasn't the ship! Not this one! Yours was in fact exactly the same, but not this one."

This changed the whole nature of the theft, further mounting evidence against Seron's allegation. Why on earth would Mr. Kozin want Seron's model so badly if he already had a model of the same ship for such a long time?

"Oh, really?" Seron paused, still somewhat incredulous. "Well, Mr. Kozin, we can soon find out the truth."

"How?"

"Shortly after I came back from the market, my ship fell over and the smokestack was broken. I soon repaired it, but you can see where it broke. So we'll look at your smokestack if you don't mind…"

He examined the model closely, looking around the base of the smokestack for evidence it had fallen over. Any sign of a crease, a crack, or a chink in the smokestack. However he found nothing, much to his bewilderment. The smokestack was perfectly intact, and the rest of the ship showed no signs of recent accident. It looked like new, despite having been owned by Mr. Kozin for more than a decade.

"The smokestack is intact," Seron said in amazement.

"So, you see," Mr. Kozin replied with a smile knowing he was right.

"This isn't my ship! But I still don't understand…"

"I can understand your surprise," Mr. Kozin divulged as Seron continued to examine the ship. "I had long thought this model was an original, so I was amazed to find an exact replica of the ship at the Capital Market. Because I found it so odd, I was persistent to have you part ways with it…"

As Mr. Kozin continued to lay out his explanation to this wild goose chase, Seron eyed the stern of the ship, wondering if the name of this model matched the name of the ship in the portrait of Meg's grandfather. Sure enough, he made out small letters in Bezelese, and mentally compared the names of the two ships as he read it in what little Bezelese he knew. With this, he knew he was on to something much bigger than a simple model, and saw immediately there was more to this mystery than the little ship spoke. Satisfied with the story of Mr. Kozin, and having no further reason to stay, he made his way towards the door, asking for the pardon of Mr. Kozin for suspecting him.

"Please do forgive me, Mr. Kozin. I am so very sorry," he admonished. "I shan't bother you a moment longer."

"That's quite alright, young man," Mr. Kozin said nonchalantly as he showed him out. "And I hope you find your ship."

"Thank you, sir. Goodbye."

He walked out of the flat and was immediately greeted by the fall of raindrops on his head. It was a good thing he wore his trench coat to shield himself from the inclement weather he assumed to be coming his way. As he made his way back to the motorcycle to return home, he recounted in his head the amazement of this perfect arrangement of concurrences. Two model battle cruisers, both exactly like the one in the painting and with the same name…

**FIREFLY**

As he got on the motorcycle he went over the facts of the case in his head. Clearly, something much larger than a model ship was at play here. First, two men fight with him to sell the model ship just after he bought it. Then, soon after discovering the ship is identical to the one in the portrait of Meg's grandfather, his model is stolen. Finally, his is not the only model of the same ship, but one of at least two, as evidenced by Mr. Kozin's model. But something was missing from this puzzle. All of this still did not explain who took the ship.

Then he remembered the other wannabe owner of the ship. The man with auburn hair in the brown suit and fedora. Granted he was not as persistent as Mr. Kozin in seeing Seron part with the model, but he still nonetheless tempted him with increasingly higher offers to buy the ship from him.

It _had_ to be him. There was simply no one else who could have taken the ship, as no one else that he was aware of was keen on getting it, so it had to have been the man in the brown suit.

Who the man was, and what he wanted with the ship, would have to await his deduction and judgment until tomorrow, as the whole matter of running around just to _find_ the ship was proving to be taxing on him. He reasoned he could get it back soon enough. He would also be sure to tell Meg of his run around town searching for the ship. He had not gotten it back, but he swore that he would not rest until he found his culprit and his gift to her returned. It would be a very funny thing, he mused, to tell her of how there was another ship just like in her picture, both of them with the same name. It _had_ to be a clue to something, but he just could not put his finger on it.

What was it? Why did more than one model exist, and just what about it was so valuable?

It was now almost evening as he pulled up into the student parking area and brought Larry's motorcycle to rest in its original designated spot. He would have to pay Larry back for inadvertently borrowing the motorcycle, not that he minded in the first place. He wearily walked up the stairwell back to the top floor hoping to call Meg and tell her of his progress, but when he opened the door, he jumped in surprise and his blank expression acted a veil for surprise and repressed anger.

His entire dorm room had been turned upside down and inside out, with papers and books thrown all over the place, and paintings knocked off their walls. All drawers in the chest were pulled open and his clothes were scattered about the carpeted floor. Everything was in total disarray and it was obvious to him that someone had been here, and stolen something more.

_Robbed twice in one day…could this Sunday get any worse?_

"Larry!" he called to his friend from across the wall. "Get in here, and quick!"

Larry answered his call and came through the bathroom door, finding the entire dorm room raided much to his astonishment and sheer distress.

"What the hell happened here?"

"The dorm's been ransacked. Whoever stole the ship must have come back."

"But I didn't hear anybody," Larry mouthed out, "I thought you had returned and had gotten the ship back!"

Seron hung his trench coat up on the coat rack in the corner and started to pick up the books off the floor.

"It doesn't matter, now, Larry. Just help me clean this place up."

"Yeah…"

The two then began to pick up the broken pieces of tranquility and set everything right, and all the while they asked questions that had no answers and posited theories that could not be tested. Throughout this time, Seron silently lamented what he would say to Meg to explain all that had happened thus far. A false lead on his path to recovering her gift. Two ships both alike in beauty, elegance, grace and majesty, much like her. A dorm room looted by an unknown thief who must have a personal grudge against him and her as well.

"Robbed twice in one day…" Seron quietly reflected as he put away the last of the books.

"Yeah, what are the chances, right?" Larry said as he filed away clothes in the chest of drawers.

"Still doesn't explain some things…" Seron returned, unsatisfied and befuddled by everything thus far.

"Like what?"

"For starters, why are there two models of the same ship? And what does our thief want with them?"

"If I knew, I'd tell you, pal. You think this is another mystery for us to solve?"

"Who knows?"

Seron wiped his brow as he and Larry looked over the newly spic and span room. Everything was back in its place, sans the missing ship. Just as that idea came to him, Seron brought up another point that was bothering him.

"Another thing: what kind of thieves break into someone's room and don't steal anything?"

"Yeah," Larry concurred, not liking the look of things at all. "Whoever these guys are, they didn't take Thievery 101. So Seron, got a plan to figure this all out?"

Seron sighed heavily, noting the lateness of the time and their need to be ready for class the next morning. As much as he wanted to get this case solved and find his lost gift to Meg, he had to put his priorities in the proper order. He said as much to his closest confidant, with a note of regret in his voice and, if one looked closely, a drop of melancholy in his austere cobalt eyes.

"I do, but it's going to have to wait until morning. We need to get some more information, and find out just what's at work here."

"That sounds fair, I guess," Larry agreed, stretching his arms in tiredness. "We'll take up the case in the morning, detective."

Larry laughed at that as Seron sorted out his final papers to present for tomorrow and allowed Larry to take his shower first. He would finish cleaning up the room and in the meantime use the last moments to come up with a plausible explanation for everything that had happened thus far.

Alas, such a revelation did not come. Perhaps it was for the better, too, for if he had a good night's sleep awoke the next morning with full vigor and energized to face this mystery head on, he might have better luck making sense out of this string of events and happenstances. He would wait until the morning, and maybe with luck, Meg might join his amateur investigation as well. He certainly would welcome her.

He went to sleep that night, only with the thoughts of the sweet-faced dark-haired girl that was the unknowing object of his affections and the one reason for his rhyme on this side of the Lutoni River.

At around three in the morning, all of the students were back in their dorms in preparation for the next day of classes, and all of them fast asleep in their beds and dreaming of carefree times, fantastical excitements and calm memories…

…that is, except one.

Seron had awoke, his cobalt eyes bleary and tired, his black hair a mess and frazzled. It seemed that even the world of his dreams was intent on doing him in, as they denied him the chance to look into a world he wished existed for him.

It was always the same dream with the same circumstances. He and Meg were sitting out on the grass in an open meadow, covered with daisies and other wildflowers. They had talked to each other always about the same things, and with the same answers given, but each time he heard her sweet voice he didn't care if it was the same mantras she spoke to him; just hearing her speaking to him was enough. Then, the same conversation played out:

"_Meg?"_

"_Yes, Seron?"_

"_Are you planning on going to the Summer Dance?"_

"_I would," Meg said with a hint of disappointment, "if I had a dance partner."_

"_Oh…that's too bad…"_

_Seron wondered what he could say to her, and in an instant all of his lost chances and missed opportunities flooded his mind. Every last adventure she had with him, be it watching her perform in theater, listening to her sing in choir, and solving mysteries with her in the newspaper club, played out like a long-lost film reel finally brought out from the vault and for the first time scrutinized by the public eye. He knew this was the moment to finally ask her, and if he botched it now, he would not live with himself afterward. He slowly formed out a few sentences, each word and syllable more difficult than the last, while still braving his default pokerfaced expression._

"_Say, Meg…I'm wondering…"_

"_What is it, Seron?"_

"_If you're still planning…to go to the dance, that is…I wonder if…"_

"_You wonder if?"_

"_I wonder if…you'd have me as a partner."_

_Meg smiled, and laughed. Such a beautiful sound, her laughter, like the voice of angels calling him to Paradise. She turned to him and, sporting the brightest smile he had ever seen on her, said…_

That was always where he would wake up. His own mind was teasing him and tempting him with glimpses of what could be between them before quickly snatching them away. Still, it didn't mean he could not daydream about it. But he could not help but wonder how long it would be before he could finally work up enough courage to ask her, and confide in her what he felt in his heart and how she had become embedded in his very soul. Perhaps he could write a poem for her, or a confidential letter. Larry had given him plenty of advice on how to get closer, and he had joined the newspaper club for that sole reason.

He had definitely made progress; she genuinely liked him enough as a friend, that much was clear to him. He still remembered clearly how she called him a good person, which made him cartwheel a hundred times in his head. They had gotten in many adventures with the newspaper club investigating everything from a local historical landmark to a string of gang murders. And if his intuition served him right, this model mystery might be their newest puzzle yet. Their cases had brought them together and gave them both happy memories, but he still yearned for something more. How long would it be? What would he have to do to finally be honest, and swallow his fear?

His chain of musings were broken when he heard a car pull up to the parking area just outside the residence hall. Something was wrong and he knew it; most of the students used motorcycles and many were rented, as was school policy. He rose from his bed and switched on the lamp on his nightstand before wearily walking over to the window, wondering what was the matter.

He looked down through the window pane. All the other windows in the hall were dark and only small streetlamps standing in regular intervals illuminated the parking lot, most of which were filled with school-issue Brough Superior motorcycles with sidecars. There, near the entrance of the residence hall, sat a dark-colored sedan idling in the dark moonless night. His glassy cobalt eyes could barely make out two figures sitting in the vehicle, waiting for something.

Seron grabbed his robe from off the coat rack in the corner of the dorm and made his way out into the hall, being careful not to disturb those who were still fast asleep. The corridors were lit only by small dim lamps hung on the walls, giving it the dark and foreboding appearance of a hallway he viewed in a pulp horror novel he once read. Ignoring the ominous glare of the dark corridors, he walked to the stairway and carefully made his way down, taking care not to trip over a step he might miss. The last thing he needed this day was a broken arm or leg. He silently cursed for having his dorm on the top floor as it made the trip all the more harrowing and agonizing. He kept his eye on the bottom floor and the large entrance doors that stood before him as he cautiously treaded down the steps. All the while he continued to deliberate over just who these mysterious visitors were, and why they were appearing at this late hour of the night. He reasoned he would find out once he got outside and asked them himself.

He guardedly crept towards the entrance doors, being watchful not to disturb anyone or anything. He had to be as quiet as a mouse and carry this out discreetly. But something was still not right with this whole scenario. What are people doing at the school at this late hour, and who would they hope to meet at a time when all good and responsible students were in bed? His muscles tensed and his mouth grew dry as he brought his hand on the doorknob, wrestling with his inner fear of what would happen next.

He stood there in silence for a few moments, with nothing but the sound of the idling engine outside filling his ears and the distant hum of an air conditioner in the entrance hall. What would happen if he opened the door? For all he knew these men could be bandits or kidnappers, coming to terrorize him or anyone else on this campus. Then, just as plausibly, they could be lost travelers looking for a guide to point them in the right direction home.

He slowly turned the knob, deciding to go out on a limb and risk whatever was outside. The sooner he found out, the sooner he could go to bed.

It was to be a mistake.

He had turned the knob all the way to the right and was about to open the door when he heard loud rapid cracks from outside, and saw neat holes pop out of the door from nowhere. Then without any warning aforethought, he felt something sharp pierce his right shoulder and just as quickly exit out the other side. He screamed at the pain that seemed greater than a thousand knives piercing one's body or the hard splash of jumping into a cold pool of water, and grasped the wound, feeling the warm and sticky liquid of life hemorrhage from it. Then just as soon as he had his hand on his shoulder, he felt another quick and acute puncture through his left thigh and exit as soon as it had come. He turned away from the door with another cry of agony as he fell to the floor.

He looked up and saw an artificial light shine through the bullet holes in the door, before quickly being put out. The sound of tires screeching broke the late night stillness and the car presumably drove away as the residence hall was soon brought to the realm of illumination as hall lights turned on and a myriad of male students came towards the entry hall to see what was the matter.

"What's going on here?"

"I heard a scream."

"Sounded like gunfire to me…"

Then Nicholas Browning, a classmate and one of Seron's newfound friends from newspaper club, soon spotted Seron writhing on the floor with a small lake of crimson red blood forming around him.

"Seron!"

Nicholas bolted down the stairway with his long brown locks streaming behind him and his emerald green eyes cutting through the ambiguous and mysterious night. He came to his side and immediately inquired just what had happened to his friend.

"I…heard a car outside…" Seron eked out, his breathing becoming more labored and heavy. "…I came down…to see who they were. I was about to open the door…when they opened fire on me."

"Someone shot you?"

"Yeah…I don't know who they were…"

At that revelation, the flood of students began to make their own investigations and charges were hurled at unknown assailants.

"Who could it have been, the gangsters?"

"Why would anyone target Mr. Maxwell? What's he done?"

"You think it's someone from a rival company? This could be their way of depriving Maxwell Frozen Food of an heir…"

"It's industrial espionage, lads! That's precisely what it is!"

As inquiries were made and questions were asked and none answered, Larry Hepburn came down the stairs dressed only in his white shirt and striped boxers and pulled up Seron by his unwounded shoulder, earning a wince from his friend as blood fell from his wound like ghastly rainwater.

"Nick," Larry said to Nicholas, "get on the phone and call the doctor. Tell him to get over here fast!"

Nicholas wasted no time in rushing to the phone and ringing up the number of the school hospital as Larry tried to calm Seron and ask him for his story of the whole incident. It was clear to both of them something larger than either of them was afoot here, and this was the start of a new mystery neither of them could have imagined.

"It's all connected somehow…" Seron breathed.

"What do you mean?" Larry asked his injured friend, grasping him firmly as he still tried to make sense of all this confusion and chaos.

"The two ships…the robbery…the ransacking of our dorm…and now a shooting. I know it…it has to be connected…"

Larry chuckled, not expecting anything different from his best friend. Leave it to Seron to focus solely on solving a puzzle in the most adverse of circumstances that called for action and deed rather than thought and word. He brought him back to his priorities however, and without an ounce of trepidation.

"Hey, let's first figure out how to get you patched up, bud."

Seron said nothing as he was still soaked in the shock of being shot and wounded. Larry was more adept at combat than he, coming from a military family and being trained in the ways of the soldier all of his life. But did he know of this feeling, this feeling of being down on one's last leg and about to lose any grip on life left? Seron felt weak as everything else in his sight began to blur and his body turn numb, leaving only the searing pain he felt in his shoulder and thigh. He rested his head on Larry's chest, trying to regain his senses as he quietly said to himself again and again…

"I'm not crazy…we have the pieces…we just need the puzzle…I must speak with Meg…"

Larry laughed at Seron still thinking of his beloved even when on the ground bleeding and broken.

"Hang in there, pal. We're going to figure this out together, all right?"

Seron nodded while Larry motioned for the other boys still in the entry hall to help him as he prepared to stand up.

"Guys, you want to give me a hand here? C'mon…"

The other students helped Seron up and out the door as the school doctor came by and put him in the back of his special response car, leaving him looking up dazed at the insulated ceiling of the vehicle as he was hauled off to the school hospital. What was really at work here? He could not tell, and he doubted if anyone else could. But what was certain was this was the start of another mystery, and undoubtedly one that neither he, nor Larry, nor Meg, nor anyone else in his small consortium of friends and classmates would ever forget.

Morning came and he found himself on one of the hospital beds with bandages wrapped around gauze pressed against his wounds. The bleeding had long stopped, but he was still in a massive amount of shock from the ordeal. He looked around for any sign of a familiar face, if only to give him some comfort that he was still among the living and not passed on into Paradise.

He found the school doctor beside him, medical gloves on and facemask covering his mouth. He appeared to be rinsing his tools in some form of antiseptic.

"You had a close call, Mr. Maxwell," the doctor said, not turning to him. "We counted 16 bullets fired. You were only shot twice."

Seron blinked, still not fully understanding and still recovering from the shock.

"It's a good thing Mr. Browning called us when he did," the doctor continued. "If he had waited any longer you might be dead from blood loss right now."

Seron's thoughts then shifted back to the mystery at hand, with this shooting being further evidence that something much larger than either of them was at play here.

"Sir…can I…see Meg? I have to ask her something…"

"Don't you worry, Mr. Maxwell," the doctor said with a bright glow in his eyes, "you'll be seeing your friends soon enough. In fact, you have some waiting for you outside…"

Seron nodded, and allowed the doctor to tend to the surfeit of friends, acquaintances and admirers teeming at the door, all of them asking of the fate of their dear friend, close classmate and idol. There was a high number of girls among them, not surprising given Seron's inflated status among female students for his quiet air, intelligence, and grace. Little did they know of just who had captured Seron's affections.

"Give it to us straight, doctor!" A dark-eyed brown-haired beauty asked with worry. "Is Seron going to be okay?"

"It was a very close call," the doctor assured them with a smile, "but Mr. Maxwell will be alright. Of course, given the circumstances of his injuries, we'll have to notify the police."

All the girls breathed a sigh of relief and immediately started vying for a chance to speak with their martyred idol and hear what surely would be a heroic account of his attempted assassination. One, a perky sweet-faced Bezelese girl with violet tinged black hair in pigtails, pushed her way through the crowd and pleaded for a minute, even just a word, with her friend.

"Please, doctor, can I speak with him?" Meg asked, her indigo eyes begging like a puppy dog.

"Only a few minutes, Ms. Straussky," the doctor tempered her. "He's still in a lot of shock from the whole thing."

The doctor held the others at bay and let Meg pass, coming to the bedside of Seron, still in a daze from his attack. She spoke softly and got his attention.

"Hi, Seron. How are you feeling?"

Seron turned and to his delight he found his secret beloved, ever faithful and caring for her friend. What could he say to her to express the joy he felt in her company? What would she say if he divulged everything he had kept hidden from her?

"Oh, Meg. I'm fine…" he said with a note of struggle, his wounds smarting. "I'm just shook up from the whole thing…"

"Tell me what happened."

Seron gulped, trying hard to swallow the lump of nervousness in his throat from talking one-on-one with his first and true love. However, she needed to know what was going on…and how it might be all connected not just to him, but to her as well. He told her everything, and conveyed his anxiety and suspicion through his pokerfaced veil.

"Late last night, I heard a car pull up outside the residence hall. I knew they weren't students, so I went down to see who it was. Just when I was about to open the door, I heard gunfire, and I was shot twice."

"You're so brave, Seron," Meg cooed as she pushed away a stray thatch of dark hair from his eyes. "Is there anything I can do for you?"

Seron's heart went aflutter from the gentle sense of Meg's soft hand on his skin, and felt he was about to die and go to Paradise. But he pulled himself together and motioned for her to come closer. He had to let her know everything that had happened, since it concerned not just the model but a link to Meg herself.

"Meg…listen to me…"

"What is it, Seron?" she said, the curiosity building in her indigo eyes.

"It's all connected somehow."

"What is?"

"Yesterday…while I was searching for the model…I found an exact replica of the same ship. It had the same name as the ship in your picture. When I came back…my dorm had been ransacked. Meg…"

He asked her to come closer, and now she was barely inches away from him as his gently and weakly whispered in her ear.

"Meg…this can't all be coincidence. It all _has_ to do with the _Firefly_, but I don't know how. There's no other reason anyone would be so persistent in getting the model. Meg, you have to tell me…what happened on that ship?"

Meg retreated a little, and seemed to search through her pretty head for an answer to Seron's question. Sadly, she didn't have any good information to offer him, much to both of their disappointment. She lamented how the fates seemed to conspire against the two of them, as Meg never met her grandfather and never learned much about him or his service in the Navy. That sense of helplessness was reflected in her glistening dark eyes.

"I'm sorry, Seron. I wish I could help, but I never knew my grandfather. He died before I was born, so I don't know much about him or his ship."

"Can you at least try to find out?" Seron pleaded. "It would really help me figure out what's going on."

"I promise, Seron. If I find anything, I'll tell you."

The doctor came in, and motioned for Meg to leave and let others see him.

"Time's up, Ms. Straussky. First class is about to begin, so you best get moving."

"All right, doctor."

Before she departed, she spoke softly in Seron's ear and made his heart beat faster and more erratically.

"Get well soon, Seron."

"Th-thanks, Meg."

With that she daintily carried herself out, and Seron was left alone for a few more moments while the doctor tried to keep back the hordes of fans and admirers from seeing their stricken star. He stifled a laugh when he heard the doctor order them all to class as it was soon time to begin, at which he heard everyone groan in disappointment and disperse to their respective classes. Just then he remembered he needed to get to class as well, and tried to get up from out of his sickbed.

"No, no, no, my boy," the doctor said, restraining him, "your wounds need to heal. You'll be staying here for the day, I'm afraid."

Seron's spirits sunk and realized he would have to ask Larry for his notes and the homework later. But it now seemed like a good time to get some insight into someone who had examined the crime scene.

"How bad was it, doctor?"

"Not as bad as it could have been," the doctor returned, indicating his narrow escape from death. "The bullets missed key arteries and veins in your chest and leg, so it was a very close run thing."

"Will I be able to go back to class tomorrow?"

"Yes. You should be fit to go out again by that time, but don't push yourself. There is one odd point however…"

"Sir?"

"The bullets fired were from a PPSh-41 submachine gun. Those are only issued to the Army. Whoever your attackers were must be from military stock or former brass, and it's obvious they're from Roxche, since that weapon can't be gotten anywhere else."

"That certainly narrows down my culprit…but not by much. I still need a motive…a reason for why they would want to kill me…"

He lay there alone for much of the day, contemplating and searching for every possible motive or cause for someone to target him. At times, he would drift off to sleep and think of happier subjects, most of which concerned the Bezelese girl in pigtails on whom everything in this mystery seemed to hinge. It was now no longer a matter of curiosity for him but rather a duty to Meg to get back her gift and find out how big a role her family plays in this. He reasoned if she was really at the center of all this like he suspected, it was more reason for him to see this mystery through to its conclusion, and support Meg in her future involvement. He would need her help and she would need his if either of them were to ever figure out the puzzle from the scattered pieces.

It was not until after the last class had been dismissed for the day that the doctor gave him clearance to return to his dorm with a clean bill of health. He cautioned against excessive physical effort, however, as his wounds still needed healing.

"Remember, Mr. Maxwell, don't push yourself."

"I know," Seron replied. "I'm going to need all my strength if this case is to be solved."

He staggered out of the hospital and walked slowly to his dorm clad in a hospital robe, which would earn a swoon from girls that passed him by. He paid them no mind, but waved weakly to those who wished him a speedy recovery from his wounds and gave him the best for braving such an ordeal. He made note to avoid the girls' dorm for fear of getting swamped by adoring fans and admirers who were much more interested in a confession and discussion in matters of the heart than in the personal injuries of a junior detective searching for a lead in a case that still baffled him. Meg was not like that. Meg did not care for him simply because he was the school idol, but rather loved him as much as any friend would for who he was. It was a much better thing to be appreciated by people for him rather than what others made him to be.

Seron entered the dorm and immediately found Larry on the ground, eyeing something underneath the chest of drawers upon which formerly sat the model ship that was at the center of this whole ordeal.

"What are you doing, Larry?"

"I was cleaning up some last evidence of the ransacking when I found a cigarette under the chest, and I'm trying to get it out…"

"A cigarette?" Seron inquired, curious to hear of such a thing in his dorm.

He didn't smoke and had no interest in doing so, and as far as he knew, neither did Larry. He reasoned it might be the cigarette of his model pilferer, and got down as best as his body could allow to search for that which was eluding Larry's grasp. He spied under the chest and in the dark and lint-filled corner, he spied a small roll of paper. Seron looked at it with examining and dissecting cobalt eyes to find there was something deceiving about this scrap of paper.

"I'd say it's an odd place for a cigarette…"

Seron circled around to the side of the chest and squeezed his hand underneath, straining to reach the paper as Larry guided him through his observing ocean blue eyes.

"A little more the right…no, _your_ right…further down…that's it, you got it!"

Seron grasped the paper and slowly withdrew his hand from underneath, and finding to his surprise that it was not a cigarette at all but a small scroll. Now both Larry and Seron were confused, wondering where on earth this diminutive roll of parchment could have arisen from, as neither of them had ever seen it before. Seron slowly unraveled the scroll and found a passage written in Bezelese along with a few numbers scribbled on the bottom.

"Say, Larry, you still have that Bezelese dictionary?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Go get it. We're going to need it to translate this…"

About three quarters of an hour passed as Larry and Seron slowly formed a rough Roxchean translation for the strange cryptic message scrawled on their parchment…

_Three Brothers joined Three Fireflies in harmony, sailing in the Morning Sun will speak. For 'tis from light that the truth will be found, and then shines forth the sword and the arrow._

_45 0 1_

Larry and Seron were equally stumped as to what this enigma could possibly mean and how it could relate to anything, least of all their case of the missing model ship. It was all nonsense as far as either of them could tell, and it still didn't answer Seron's questions, or any of Larry's either.

"I love riddles as much as the next person," Larry slowly said, trying to add up all of this, "but this one has got me stumped."

"I'm equally as baffled," Seron concurred, closely examining the scroll, mentally arranging the pieces and trying to see the larger puzzle. "What on earth could it possibly mean?"

"And it doesn't explain how this little scrap of parchment got here in the first place…"

Just as Larry brought up that query, Seron seemed struck as his cobalt eyes grew to the size of saucers and a small gasp escaped his lips, finally seeing all the pieces fall into the right place. In an instant, it all added up and made sense. The model ship. The pilfering. The ransacking. The shooting.

"I think I've got it…" Seron mouthed out, still trying to make some sense of this riddle.

"What do you mean? Got what?" Larry asked, desperate to find out what Seron had finally gathered from the scroll.

"Larry, remember when the model ship fell over and the smokestack broke?"

"Yeah, why?"

Seron blinked and leaned in to tell Larry everything of his theory.

"Well, this parchment of ours must have been rolled up inside the model's smokestack. It fell out when it was broken and rolled under the chest of drawers. And that explains something else: whoever stole the ship must have known it was there, and when he discovered the scroll was gone, he concluded I must have found it. _That's_ why he came back and looted the dormitory, never guessing the scroll was underneath the chest."

Larry sat in surprise at the accuracy and intelligence of Seron's reasoning, and it started to fit together for him. However, there were still a few things that bothered him about this mystery for the two of them.

"I've got to hand it to you, Seron, you'd make a good detective. But that still doesn't explain why he came back in the middle of the night and shot you…"

"He must have been really desperate to get that scroll back, and thought if he could get rid of me or at least incapacitate me, then he could search for the scroll without any fears of future harassment."

Larry nodded, seeing the logic behind Seron's argument and wondered what else could be gathered from this musty scroll of parchment. There was still one thing that mystified him and made him wonder just what was this whole business about. What was really at play here, and what was to be gained?

"There's only one question left," Seron continued, eyeing the scroll with narrow cobalt eyes, "why? Why is he so anxious to get the scroll? What can he hope to gain from getting a hold of it?"

"Beats me," Larry said, stumped beyond hope, trusting in Seron's powers of deduction. "Got any ideas, detective?"

Silent wars seemed to wage in Seron's head as he searched through the charred battlefields of reasoning and logic to find a good explanation for all of this trouble over a small scroll. There _had_ to be a reason why someone was so fraught with worry to get this parchment. And then suddenly he remembered: the second model ship he found owned by Mr. Kozin, with smokestack intact. And the writings on the parchment mentioned three fireflies. Suddenly, in an instant, it all added up and finally, after much deliberation and searching for leads and motives, Seron had found his puzzle.

"Of course. It has to be the only explanation."

"What are you talking about, Seron?"

Seron turned to his friend with a stoic and austere expression on his face, harkening a call to duty and answering the trumpet summoning them to adventure and questing. With a resolute and firm voice, the likes of which Larry had not seen in his previous exploits with him, said,

"You should call the newspaper club together, Larry. We're going on a treasure hunt."

* * *

><p>AN: Oh ho ho! And now we got the mystery revealed! This is where things really start to pick up, and Seron's proving to be as clever a male lead as Wil or Treize. What will happen to Meg and Seron next? Find out next time!

Please favorite, read, review, and alert if you like this story!


	3. Chapter 3: Family Ties

A/N: Ready for the third installment? I sure am. You might want to set some time aside to read this through, because this is going to be a long one, detailing in full the story of Maximilian Straussky and his cruiser the _Firefly_ in the River War. Without further ado, let's get going.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Three: Family Ties<strong>

In a small building in the corner of the school campus, a small inconspicuous meeting was being held by a small inconspicuous club, with no more than five core members, all sitting around a coffee table on red sofas. Five of the members were present; a sixth was late for whom they were all waiting.

The newspaper club had a knack for finding mysteries to solve unexpectedly, usually ending with the members getting mixed up in business they would do better staying out of. Regardless, they had a very good reputation among the school population for bringing in good stories for the students to read, even if it did occasionally sink into the realm of gutter press with the fruitless stories of high school gossip. Seron refused to associate with the newspaper at those times, and abstained at all instances from interviews to divulge information about his romantic life.

Seron sat in the corner of the room in a red armchair reading a book detailing the history of the River War between Roxche and Sous-Beil that lasted for five years until the armistice. He figured he would need the knowledge to contextualize whatever Meg had to offer the club about her grandfather and his ship. She contacted him early the next morning after he found the scroll, saying how she found something that might prove useful, but refused to give the full details unless everyone was present. Seron did not object, as he reasoned that everyone's help was needed to crack this case and it was important for them to be put in the loop of what had happened to them thus far.

Across from Seron sat Larry, but out of his school uniform for the day and instead in his usual sleeveless black shirt, military green trousers and black training boots, with the look of a soon-to-be soldier. He was always seen in this outfit outside of class, usually found on the physical training grounds practicing with an air rifle or running through an obstacle course. Even in the realm of the newspaper club room he mentally and physically trained himself for the life of the soldier, a dream that seemed quite out of place with the peace that had been firmly in place for more than 15 years. He proved to be the muscle of the group and the necessary backup when it came to firearms, though there were few instances when their adventures called for their use. Still, he had given Seron rudimentary training in the use of a pistol and a small carbine, so it was not a complete waste of time.

Besides Larry, three other persons occupied the room with them, all dressed in their respective school uniforms. On a sofa across from Larry sat Nicholas Browning, the only other male in the club though one look at him would deceive anyone. He wore his light brown hair long, almost down to his waist making him look more feminine than the most petite and dainty noblewoman on either side of the river. A small lock of his hair hung in his face between his bright and eager green eyes that looked always and everywhere for a new challenge to face. Like Seron, he had a high level of popularity among female students for his reliability and charm, to say nothing of his feminine appearance.

In fact, he too was very reticent about who held his affections and his reputation was also one of continuously rejecting confession after confession from admirers and adoring fans. Some even speculated that he and Seron were closer than just ordinary friends and classmates, something that both of them fervently and adamantly denied at every given opportunity.

Next to Nicholas sat a tall girl wearing her long brown hair up, wearing black pantyhose over her statuesque legs. Dark brown eyes scanned the room behind her thin reading glasses, eyes that seemed rather disbelieving of the whole story Seron had laid out before them. Her body was leaning forward as if in the midst of an interrogation with a suspect who was about to crack.

Her name was Natalia Steinbeck (or Naata as some called her), and her position amongst the small club was one of observer and editor, frequently pointing out anything of interest in the club's searches for new and exciting stories. Her ad-hoc position in the club that would be considered low standing hid her status as the daughter of accomplished Roxchean musicians, from whom she had inherited considerable skill and frequently showed in school orchestra. Her wily intellect was well regarded in club, but her assets were offset by her biggest liability to this little band of students: her appetite, which was voracious to say the least. Her eating habits were enough to drive their club bankrupt in the worst of circumstances.

On the other sofa completing the circle sat a small girl of short red hair and matching eyes that spelled trouble for anyone who dared catch her gaze. Her head was flanked on either side by violet butterfly-shaped hair ornaments that held her short mane in place, only calling further to attention her diminutive appearance, making her seem more a doll than an actual living and breathing human. One eyebrow was raised in suspicion of Seron's tale, though one could recognize that she was actually intrigued, seeing the potential of such a hair-raising story published for the school paper.

This girl's name was Jennifer Jones, though she preferred to be called Jenny. Her unpretentious appearance veiled her position in this small organization: the club director and manager. Her high position meant that she ultimately made the call of whether to pursue a story or not, depending on her own self-interest in the project. It was usually she who led them all on their different assortment of cases ranging from searching the ruins of an old castle to investigating gang-related murders. Her curiosity and pipsqueak-like nature always bested her in their adventures, and frequently got all of them deeper into cases they would do better to stay out of. Despite this, all the others still treated her with the due respect of a club officer, and her enthusiasm for getting juicy stories was unlike any found by Seron or anyone else.

"So let me get this straight, Seron," Natalia asked for what must have been the umpteenth time, still considering the circumstances dubious. "Are you asking me and the others here to believe that because some guys try to get your model ship and you find a musty scroll, there's supposed to be a treasure?"

"You are all free to think what you like," Seron retorted not looking up from his book, "but that's what I think is at work here."

"You've read far too many pirate stories. There's no treasure of that kind in this day and age. We would have long found it by now…"

"That's my point. We haven't. And at least one other ship contains a clue to the location of the treasure. We just need to find it."

"Well, I'm still not convinced of the whole thing…" Natalia said, sinking back into the sofa with an apprehensive glare.

"It's a bit farfetched, I agree," Nicholas said in Seron's defense, "but I can't think of any other way to explain it. Why would someone drive to the campus and shoot at Seron if it wasn't over something valuable? Why go through all of that trouble if they already got the model?"

"Exactly," Seron concurred. "Whoever attacked me and looted my dorm must have known the scroll was in the ship."

"If Meg could just _show up_," Jenny broke in with a note of impatience, "we might be able to figure out this mystery. Did any of you see her?"

"I spoke with her earlier," Natalia responded, "and she said she might be late. She was getting something really important to show us, she said."

"It must be important to make us wait this long."

Jenny then turned her ruby eyes to Seron's cobalt ones and an impish smile ran across her face.

"Still, it's a pretty amazing story if it turns out to be true, Seron. Can you imagine the publicity we would get from all this? I can just picture the headline: Ship Model Holds Secret Treasure. We'd get readers in no time flat!"

"That's more something for an adventure novel than a newspaper, Jenny," Natalia cautioned her.

Seron too was worried, seeing as how he had not seen Meg all day since early in the morning. When Larry called everyone for a meeting, Meg had said to Seron she found something that might be useful in finally deciphering the puzzle. What it was, she gave no hint and she did not intend to reveal any time before the meeting. The only hint she gave was how it had to do with the history of the cruiser _Firefly_, which did not evoke much information. He wondered if she was sick, or perhaps someone else had kept her engaged.

At that, a gentle knock on the door came, and Seron reasoned it was Meg, finally ready to reveal the true secret of the model ship and give an insight as to what this whole business was about. He opened the door and found her decked in her school uniform, but she had added a flair to it: on her head of pigtailed violet-tinged hair she had a captain's hat of the kind found in the Navy, embroidered and decorated with the crest of Sous-Beil. Seron's chest ached at how endearing Meg looked with that one additional piece of clothing on her person as he showed her in. He also noticed in her hands she carried an large brown book, worn around its cover edges with age. What that book contained he could not even venture to guess.

"Hi, everyone!" Meg chirped in her usual upbeat and bubbly manner. "Sorry to keep you waiting so long."

"Not a problem," Jenny said, taking note to hush up Natalia when she tried to object to her contriteness. "So what have you got there?"

"I was thinking about this whole mystery with the ships," Meg began as she sat down next to Jenny, "and I remembered in my closet I had an old sea-chest belonging to my grandfather. In it, I found this hat, his officer's saber, and…"

"Treasure?" Jenny interjected, her maroon eyes hopeful.

"A treasure map?" Nicholas suggested.

"No, not treasure," Meg tempered them, "but something just as valuable."

She set down the large book on the coffee table for all to see and explained further as the rest of the club gazed upon it, as if it was a message from God.

"I found this old manuscript, penned by my grandfather. I started reading it last night and all day today. I was still reading before the meeting was called, so that's why I was a little late."

Seron opened the book and immediately found the frontispiece written in elegant cursive Bezelese…

**Journal of Sir Maximilian Straussky**

**Captain in the Royal Navy of Sous-Beil**

**Commander of the vessel **_**Firefly**_

"But good gracious," Meg continued vivaciously, "what an amazing story! Just listen to it!"

The others, as if by instinct, gathered closer to each other as they heard Meg spin the epic tale of her grandfather, and his many exploits in his service to King and Country. Meg smiled, pleased to see so many others interested in her stories of grand battles and acts of bravery as she cleared her throat and began.

"It's the year 3279. The River War has entered its second autumn, and the _Firefly_, a valiant battle cruiser of King Friedrich II's fleet, is sailing down the river to provide support for the amphibious landings on Green Island…"

* * *

><p><strong>September, 3279 World Calendar<strong>

Maximilian Straussky slowly climbed up the tall steps to the bridge where his entire crew was waiting for him. He had put in a complaint before the Admiralty to install elevators on the cruisers, and thereby provide less wear and tear on his aging bones, but the Admiralty purported they did not have the funds, as they needed all available resources for producing more ships to combat the Roxchean Federal Navy. Still, he would bear it, if it was what he could do for his country.

He was decked in his autumn service uniform: an ebony black greatcoat bearing his rank on the sleeves and shoulder straps. Underneath he wore his naval jacket and white dress shirt and black slacks, cutting the image of a diligent captain, loyal to his ship and his crew and his country above all else.

It was cloudy and biting cold day for autumn, yet the river was only slightly choppy and visibility was nominal, making it good weather for combat. He reasoned his ship and crew would see action soon enough, as they drew closer to Green Island. The Roxchean Navy had dispatched three flotillas of gunboats to support their ground forces defending the Island. Never mind, he thought. River gunboats are no match for a fully armed battle cruiser.

He reached the bridge and heaved a sigh of relief as he planted his foot on the top of the stairwell. Slowly, with his aged hand on the doorknob, he opened it and was greeted by the systematic clicking of heels and saluting of sailors and officers on the bridge, bidding a good day to their captain.

"Good afternoon, Captain Straussky," his crew chanted.

"Good afternoon, lads," Maximilian greeted with a slight ache in his arm as he returned the salute.

He came by the helm and consulted his chief officer on deck, a young and ambitious sailor who had fought with him throughout his career in the Navy and had seen the horrors of battle with him, Franz Westhus

"Mr. Westhus," Maximilian started, "situation report."

"All engines operating at normal, sir. Current speed is 17 knots. We should reach Green Island right on schedule."

"Any sign of the enemy?"

"None yet, sir. All's quiet on the river."

"Right…"

He turned to the other members on the bridge, all concentrated at their respective posts and gave his first orders of the day.

"Keep your eyes peeled for any smoke trails or mainmasts on the horizon. We're entering the warzone now, so be on your guard."

"Aye-aye, sir!" was the resolute reply of his crew.

Thus, the crew began their vigilant watch over the wide, deep and swift-flowing Lutoni River to spot any sign of their enemy. Hours seemed to pass as they gently and steadily sailed south, towards the island that was their objective.

The _Firefly_ was one of the finest battle cruisers of its day, built and rigged in the military port of Donzig, where her keel was laid down more than three years ago in preparation for war, given the increasingly hostile actions around Green Island and the breakdown of negotiations over river navigation rights. She was one of the heaviest battle cruisers in the entire Royal Navy, weighing in at more than 14,000 tons, fully loaded. She boasted impressive armaments as well: 6 powerful 28 cm guns mounted on triple turrets complemented by 8 quick and maneuverable 11 cm guns on single turrets, along with 8 torpedo tubes. Her impressive armament and diminutive size compared to the larger capital battleships that dominated the waves led to her crew affectionately dubbing her their "pocket battleship."

Her crew and captain were seasoned veterans after two years of fighting on the high seas. In their many months away from dry land and the sights of home the _Firefly_ had brought much clout to the Bezelese Royal Navy. She had performed exceptionally well as a raider, disrupting enemy armored convoys and engaging with destroyer and cruiser escorts trying to protect supply ships delivering essentials to the troops on Green Island. Despite being a cruiser and not designed to face a capital ship one-on-one, in one battle only six months ago she had delayed the Roxchean battleship _Kolchak_ from attacking the main Bezelese fleet. Despite being heavily damaged in the battle and almost sunk, her efforts were not in vain as reinforcements arrived in time to save her from further assault, forcing the _Kolchak_ away. By this critical point in the war, her kill count had amounted to 5 destroyers, 4 cruisers and 10 convoy ships destroyed.

Now, however, the most decisive and vital moment in the campaign, the _Firefly_ was off to provide fire support for the amphibious landings of the Bezelese Royal Army on Green Island. It was a fairly low-key job compared to all the other tasks she and her crew had performed, but orders were orders, and they had to be carried out. Such was the edict of Captain Straussky to his crew.

Maximilian was well-respected at the Admiralty and by his crew. Despite being one of the oldest officers in the navy at 57, he still proved to be a brave, capable and shrewd commander. He was a veteran of the Great War almost 30 years ago, when he was merely a gunner on a small destroyer, protecting the harbor of Freundhaven from Roxchean attack. Through his bravery and skill of command, he had risen through the ranks had received a knighthood from the King and the rank of captain by war's end. He had now shown his prowess on the seas in action already, and only longed for one last chance of battle before finally returning to his country and his family estate, his reputation and future secured.

He held in his coat pocket a recent letter received from his wife, telling him to expect a third child in the Straussky family. He already was the proud father of two sons, and the news of a third on the way filled him with a great sense of pride, but at the same time, melancholy of having to be on the frontlines rather than be by his wife's side and raise his children.

He resolved that by the end of this conflict, he would ask for a retirement pension. Maximilian was certain the Admiralty would give it to him, since he had already rendered a great service. Further, there was talk that this might be the last war to be fought, since both Roxche and Sous-Beil were fast growing exhausted from decade after decade of conflict. Over what? He could barely even remember.

As his mind began to drift towards dry land and away from the open sea, a call came from a lookout, his voice crackling through the radio transmitter to the bridge.

"Smoke trail ahoy!"

Maximilian immediately ran to the phone and spoke directly to the lookout from the crow's nest, high in the forward mast.

"Where away?"

"5 points off the port bow, sir."

Maximilian looked through his binoculars and saw what looked to be a trail of smoke not more than 5 miles out. Soon his seasoned midnight blue eyes made out mainmasts, and finally the body of a ship. She was heading towards their position, and making a brisk pace at that. She looked to be a cruiser but of what class he was not certain. Perhaps it was the lead reinforcements coming up to join them before they moored outside Green Island.

"Mr. Benaris," Maximilian called again to the lookout, "get on the signal lamp and ask for identification."

"Aye, sir."

Maximilian again brought his binoculars to his farseeing and weathered eyes, wondering just who this ship was that was steaming towards them at such a fast pace. She didn't seem to be responding to the signal calls. He wondered if they had already seen action and were heading to port for repairs. Soon, however, colors were hoisted to the mainmast, showing just who this fast girl belonged to.

One look at the flapping banner was enough to make him gasp.

"My god…"

Streaming in the strong and stiff sea wind, the flag bore the crest of their hated enemy, the spear intended for the hearts of all westerners sloping down and to the left in the middle of a yellow disc with a brown ring in a blue field. That was all he needed to determine the next course of action.

"It's Theron's Arrow, lads!" Mr. Westhus exclaimed. "It's a Roxchean cruiser!"

"Clear the decks for action," Maximilian calmly ordered in reply. "Order all personnel to general quarters."

Westhus relayed the orders through the radio transmitter to all channels on the ship.

"All hands make ready for combat! This is not a drill. Repeat: this is _not_ a drill!"

The alarm siren sounded as all across the deck and on every level, men of different ages, backgrounds, families and raisons d'être for participating in a war that no one could remember beginning, beat to their quarters and stood ready to defeat the enemy that they had always been told to fight until their last breath. On the bridge, all officers and sailors took their respective positions in readiness for combat, whether it be communicating with gunners, sighting targets or simply steering the ship to avoid fire. No levity shone through any of their eyes and a great quiet prevailed over the crew, with only the blaring sirens filling the air.

"Quartermaster Voss," Maximilian called, turning to his helmsman, "Hard a'port."

"Hard a'port, sir!"

As Voss turned the helm to port, Maximilian shifted his hard midnight blue eyes to his first officer who was manning the communication valve to the gunnery room. The main guns had to be ready if they wanted to win this battle, and said as much to him.

"Mr. Triebig, bring main guns around 90 degrees starboard. Prepare for broadside."

"Aye-aye, sir," Triebig saluted before calling down to the gunners. "Main guns, rotate 90 degrees starboard! Prepare for broadside firing."

Maximilian could make out the whirring of the turrets as the guns were brought about in readiness to fire. Looking down through the windows from the bridge, he saw the guns, tall as trees, slowly rise at an increasing angle, waiting for the command to fire. He then turned his eyes to their Roxchean cruiser, who still was coming at full speed. Then he saw through his binoculars the flickering of a signal lamp from the crow's nest of the ship.

"They're signaling us, sir!" Westhus exclaimed, pointing to the ship in the distance.

"Anyone have an idea what they're saying?" Triebig asked, not well-versed in Roxchean.

Another sailor looked through his binoculars and slowly formed a sentence based on the flashing code transmitted from the ship, relaying it back to his captain.

"They're asking for identification sir. They think we're a Roxchean ship."

"Well then," the captain smiled, seeing a prime opportunity to get the jump on their enemy, "let's give them an answer they'll never forget. Prepare guns to fire. Triebig, relay coordinates as I call them out."

"Aye, sir."

"Helm's hard over to port, sir," Voss called.

"Voss, maintain our new course. Let's maintain our firing position. Engines slow ahead."

"Slow ahead engines, sir."

As another seaman transferred the engine speed through the moving of the telegraph, Maximilian kept a watch on the ship as it drifted closer to them, still unaware of their true identity and intentions. He counted each second that went by and myriad calculations of when the right moment to fire would come whizzed through his head as he patiently and quietly enticed their unsuspecting enemies towards them.

"That's it, lads…closer…closer…load armor piercing rounds."

"Armor piercing rounds!" Triebig repeated.

Not more than a minute later, the gunners responded that the cannons were loaded and waiting for the order to fire. Maximilian then relayed the coordinates of the target to Triebig, who sent them on to the gun crews.

"Range: 3500 meters."

"3500 meters," Triebig repeated.

"Projection: 42 degrees."

"42 degrees."

"Fire!"

The main guns spoke with the deafening roar of a large thunderclap as the shells were lobbed from the cannons, smoke covering their trails. Maximilian watched the cruiser as it continued to move toward her before being stopped by and explosion on deck, near the bow.

"We hit her, sir!" a sailor cheered looking through his field glasses. "She's turning!"

"Well, that got her attention, lads," Westhus observed, noting the change in direction, seeing the cruiser moving to engage. "Her guns are coming about. Looks like she wants a fight, Captain."

"Then let's give her one, my hearties," Maximilian chuckled, never taking his eye off the ship.

Triebig recalled the guns and gave new directions to concentrate fire on the cruiser's main guns. If they were to win this fight, they had to render the cruiser unable to fire and damage the _Firefly_.

"Range: 3375 meters."

"3375 meters."

"Projection: 38 degrees."

"38 degrees."

"Fire!"

The guns opened up again as if the wrath of God Himself was manifested in these guns and shells as big as trees, however the results were less than what was expected. Less than half of the shells lobbed hit their mark, and only did minimal damage, as the Roxchean cruiser took that salvo as her cue to return fire. The two turrets sporting two 6 inch guns swiveled about before rising. Maximilian wasted no time in evading the ship.

"Voss, starboard 35 degrees!"

"Starboard, 35 degrees, sir."

The ship veered to the right just as their enemy opened fire, the distant booming reaching their ears a few seconds later. 2 shells landed missed their intended target and threw sheets of water into the air like large powerful geysers. The water splashed on the surface deck and as the vibration from the explosions rocked the ship to port and then starboard. All on the bridge were tossed about like clothes in a washing machine before finally leveling. Voss had managed to hang onto the helm, keeping the _Firefly_ steady while Maximilian lay dazed on the other side of the bridge with Westhus beside him, thrown against the Plexiglas windows looking out over the wide and deep Lutoni river.

Maximilian staggered back to his feet and tried to find his target, looking across the open sea in search of his prey. In the meantime, he called upon another seaman who was manning a radio with the crew.

"Kropp, damage report."

"One of our secondary guns is damaged."

"Can it still fire?"

"No, sir, the barrel's been shot. She'll need to be replaced. We have a fire near the medical bay, and some of our boys are working to put it out now. We also have some hull damage near the forepeak, but nothing serious. We'll soon repair it."

Maximilian nodded, and ordered all men back to their stations. The fight was not over yet, and he would be damned if he lost this battle and a major opportunity to return home to his family waiting ever patiently for him to finish the duties of a soldier. He turned to Triebig again and ordered a shift in direction of the guns.

"Main guns rotate port, 20 degrees."

"Rotate port, 20 degrees."

Maximilian looked down to see the formidable turrets on his beloved ship slowly revolve into position, each gun trained on the Roxchean cruiser that now seemed to be wondering if this was a fight worth pursuing. It was evident in her uneasy and wavering pattern of direction, dithering between pressing the fight or running away as the _Firefly_ quickly bore down on the indecisive cruiser. Maximilian's soldier instinct knew this was the prime moment to strike a crippling blow to their enemy.

"Range: 3100 meters."

"3100 meters."

"Projection: 35 degrees."

"35 degrees."

"FIRE!"

The salvo of _Firefly's_ guns rocked the ship to her keel, almost knocking her over. Thankfully, she was a much stronger-built vessel than to fall victim to capsizing. Maximilian watched apprehensively, mentally hanging by his very fingertips, praying for a kill shot to finally do in their foe. He counted the seconds as the enemy ship slowly drifted along the river waves, as if waiting for the inevitable defeat to arrive.

What seemed like hours went by before a large crash sounded and all on the bridge spotted orange balls of flames on the horizon. Then came the cheering jovial cry of Westhus, which was then followed by the victorious chanting and whistling of the crew on the bridge and on the decks below.

"We hit her, sir! Her forward guns are gone!"

Maximilian then brought his binoculars to his eyes, seeing that the cruiser was out of commission and no longer fit to carry on with the battle. The surface deck was a blazing inferno as the crewmen scrambled about on deck trying to control the orange flames or took their chances in the depths of the river. The gun turrets were destroyed and rendered as large smoking wrecks of wrought iron and steel. Near the guns was a gigantic gaping hole on the forward deck, which he estimated to be four feet wide. It was clear the ship was fit to be sent home…provided she made it back.

"Let's finish her, lads," Maximilian ordered, not wanting to take chances, "before she radios our position. Secondary guns, target the communications tower. Main guns, target the hull."

"All able guns primed and ready sir," Triebig relayed, standing by the communication tube, awaiting the coordinates for firing.

"Range: 3050 meters."

"3050 meters."

"Projection: 35 degrees."

"35 degrees."

"Fire!"

All guns, including the 6 inch guns, opened fire on their helpless target, cutting through the air and finding their marks. The effects of the _Firefly's _barrage was soon made apparent as the communications tower quickly was blast to pieces, rendering the ship unable to signal for help. Then, one of the shells from the power 28 cm guns cut through the hull of the cruiser and struck the magazine in the hold of the ship. The magazine detonated, and the entire ship burst into one giant conflagration with a thunderous boom, before slowly sinking into the river stern first. Amidst the cheers and joyous shouts of the _Firefly's _crew, screams and moans were heard from the foundering Roxchean cruiser as all hands took their chances in the river, wishing to escape a fiery and much more merciless fate.

Maximilian smiled, seeing another victory for him, another step to ending this long war that had cost the continent so much. The officers and crew on the bridge showered him with praise and congratulation as he ordered a resuming of their previous course, hoping this to be the last combat before reaching Green Island.

"Quartermaster Voss, bring her around and head for Green Island. Mr. Triebig, get on the horn and inform the Admiral we have sunk another Roxchean cruiser and sustained light damage. Have the repair ships be ready to meet us at the Island. Kropp, head to the deck oversee all damage that is reparable. Mr. Westhus, keep an eye on out any more Roxchean cruisers. Those eastern bastards know we're coming, so keep your wits about you lads."

"Aye, sir!" the crew returned in unison and went to their respective assigned posts.

The _Firefly_ banked to the right, the sharp bow cutting through the clear and deep waters of the river as she reassumed her course for their original objective. For a moment, it seemed like all would be smooth sailing until Green Island. But unfortunately that hope and wish among all the crew and Maximilian himself was dashed on the rocks when a shell from an unknown attacker landed near the hull of the ship as it turned to starboard…

* * *

><p>"Wow," Jenny said, her ruby eyes wide as dinner plates in amazement of Meg's tale. "Your grandfather was really something else, Meg."<p>

"He must have been a great man," Nicholas concurred, "to say nothing of his seamanship."

"Well," Meg tempered, blushing, "he didn't get a knighthood from the King of Sous-Beil for nothing."

Natalia adjusted her glasses, and sensed something amiss in this story as her dark eyes glinted with suspicion. She leaned over and interrogated Meg about her story thus far.

"But wait," Natalia queried, "if the _Firefly_ had sunk that Roxchean cruiser and destroyed its com tower, where did that shell come from?"

"I was just getting to that," Meg explained. "The mistake my grandfather made was he didn't target the communications tower first. Just before he managed to cripple the ship, the crew got off a distress signal and relayed their position. When the _Firefly_ destroyed the communications tower, it was too late."

"So the Roxchean fleet caught the _Firefly_ off-guard," Seron reasoned.

"Yes, that's precisely it. Just as they were turning around to keep going for Green Island, a cry came from the crow's nest…"

* * *

><p>"Cannon blasts ahoy!"<p>

"Where away, Mr. Benaris?"

"10 points off the port stern, sir!"

Maximilian reasoned it was the remainder of the Roxchean squadron, coming to aid their stricken sister in arms. Sadly for them, they had arrived too late. With the cruiser dead, the Roxchean sister ships were surely intent on exacting revenge on the Bezelese warship. There was no time to waste if they wanted to dispatch their newest opponent. Maximilian nevertheless did not order an altering of course.

"Voss, steady as she goes. We've got to keep our guns aimed at whoever this new lass is."

"Aye, sir."

"Westhus, see anything yet?"

"Nothing sir…" Westhus reported, looking through the binoculars for any sign of their attackers. "Not even a seagull out there…"

"Wait!" a sailor shouted, pointing off to the horizon through his field glasses. "I see a destroyer…no, it's a heavy cruiser! And she's coming straight at us!"

Maximilian ran to the starboard side of the ship, and eyed through his binoculars what looked to be a Roxchean warship, more heavily armed than the one they had just beaten into submission. The ship was heading straight at his position and at a mindboggling quick pace. She would cut straight across their bows if they didn't get rid of her quickly!

"Triebig, make ready main guns."

"Guns ready to fire on your orders sir," Triebig replied, still firmly at his post near the communications valve.

Just as before, Maximilian relayed the coordinates for firing to him.

"Range: 4000 meters."

"4000 meters."

"Projection: 47 degrees."

"47 degrees."

"Fire!"

The guns boomed and sent six shells screaming through the air in a long arc, the entire crew hearing them whoosh like arrows cutting through to their targets. Soon, all the officers and men on the bridge saw a shell land on the cruiser's hull, rocking the ship from side to side and leaving a gaping hole in her side above the waterline. Four more shells landed in the water but close enough to jostle the cruiser and even toss a few men overboard. Still the heavy cruiser doggedly pressed on and fired a reciprocal volley from her guns.

Not more than a minute later, a whistling sound was heard by the men on the bridge. Then suddenly, the ship rocked as if a the earth was about to split in two and swallow up them, the cruiser and every other living thing in this wide and treacherous river. Kropp relayed through the radio the damage report, which, while not critical, was enough cause for concern.

"She struck us in the forecastle, sir! And another one of our 11 cm guns are out of action!"

Maximilian pounded his fist on the top of a control panel in frustration, cursing their failing luck. Damned be he and his entire crew if they failed to maintain their perfect record of victories now! This cruiser was not well-armed compared to the _Firefly_ and yet it could still pack a punch! They had to dispatch that cruiser if they wanted to continue to Green Island unmolested. They _needed _to sink her.

"Voss, starboard, hard a'starboard."

"Hard a'starboard, sir."

"Captain," Triebig protested, his charcoal eyes dilated in surprise at his commanding officer's move, "are you seriously contemplating that we…?"

"If she wants to fight us, we'll fight her, Triebig. But we can't risk any more damage on the starboard. Voss, engines full ahead!"

"Full ahead, sir."

"Triebig, order guns to adjust their aim and fire when in sight of the target. All remaining starboard 11 cm guns, fire at will! Lets hit them with all we have!"

"Aye, sir. All guns, adjust aim as we turn. Notify when in sight of the target. 11 cm guns, prepare to fire!"

_Firefly_ made a turn to the right again, intending to expose her unscathed port side to the danger of the cruiser's guns. Maximilian also intended for the ship to get closer to the cruiser as she was still heading straight at them at full speed. This would catch the cruiser unawares and unable to alter course, just as all the guns on the port side open up on them in a devastating salvo. It was an risky plan, but risk was always present in time of war. A war which the reason of conflict had long been forgotten…

As the _Firefly_ came about and swiveled the main turrets to port, the remaining two starboard operating 11 cm guns opened fire. Although not lobbing as large a shell, they were quick-loading and maneuverable, able to lob off more than 3 times the number of rounds than their larger three-turreted cousins.

The two shells landed on the cruiser, striking it near her anchor and blowing a hole where the ship's registry number stood. Maximilian instantly knew the _Firefly_ had to make or break this fight; the cruiser was damaged but wasn't sinking, and she still was approaching them at a spanking pace. Any faster and she would cut across the bows, so they needed to keep their distance from the ship. In the meantime, Maximilian would keep his ship moving away just enough to still engage and not risk fire.

"Voss," he ordered, seeing the ship had come round, "maintain present course. Don't turn until I tell you. Triebig, are the guns ready?"

"Guns are in position and awaiting coordinates sir."

"Right, then. Range: 3100 meters."

"3100 meters."

"Projection: 32 degrees."

"32 degrees."

"Fire!"

The main guns threw its shells as high as houses into the air and towards their foe, as each officer and crewman prayed for a hit, a single critical hit. Westhus saw a shell land near the bow of the cruiser but it fell harmlessly into the water, while two more landed further behind her on either side. Another shell, to the rejoice of the crew, landed near the superstructure of the ship and a fire erupted on the deck while two more shells fell into the sea, sending sheets of water upon the crew. The cruiser was simply too fast, and she was still bearing down on the _Firefly_ at full speed. Maximilian saw only one option. The main guns were too slow to load and by the time they fired the cruiser would be gone. He had to rely on the 11 cm guns.

"Triebig," Maximilian ordered, his indigo eyes hard as the steel his ship was crafted from, "the main guns are firing too slowly. Order all secondary guns to fire at will on that cruiser. Target all important hard points!"

"Aye, sir!"

"Westhus, get on the radio and tell the admiral we require assistance. We're going to need something faster than us to take out that cruiser."

"Aye, sir," Westhus nodded, his brown eyes glinting with determination. "I've also confirmed presence of one of those new aircraft carriers trailing the cruiser half a click out."

Maximilian smirked, finding a way to work his powerful main guns back into the strategy.

"Triebig, tell the main gunners their new primary target is the aircraft carrier and engage at will."

"Aye-aye, sir."

"Captain, she's opened fire again!" Westhus exclaimed, pointing to their problem cruiser on the horizon, the smoke trails from their cannon blasts evident.

"Voss," Maximilian shouted, knowing that time was of the essence, "hard a'starboard!"

"Hard a'starboard, sir."

The _Firefly _turned hard to the right, managing to evade the gunfire, but one shell landed near the poop deck, and created a fire aboard deck. It turned out, according to Kropp, that the shell had barely missed the fuel storage, and a colossal explosion that would have turned the ship into a floating inferno was narrowly averted. In the meantime, _Firefly's_ guns kept pounding the Roxchean warship as she drew closer and closer to the massive Bezelese battle cruiser. She was not more than 1 mile away from _Firefly_, and already she had taken a pounding; two fires on deck which the crew were desperately trying to control, a destroyed secondary gun, and a superstructure so riddled with shell holes that one would think it was struck by a hailstorm. And still, she sailed on, undaunted and infused with vengeful purpose. Why couldn't this ship just sink? What was keeping it from capitulating and turning from this fight it could not hope to win?

Suddenly, a cry came from the crow's nest through the speakers, calling attention to the states of their foes.

"Wings ahoy! Off the starboard quarter!"

"How many, Mr. Benaris?" Maximilian inquired hurriedly.

"I count 5…no, 7…no, 10…it's a whole squadron!"

"What kind of planes are they? Are they carrying any heavy weapons?"

"They look to be…yes, their Corsairs…and they're carrying rockets!"

"Dammit," he cursed, banging his hand on a control panel. "fighter bombers. Mr. Westhus, order the crew to man the AA batteries. Don't let a fighter get near us; fill the skies with tracers!"

"Aye, sir," Westhus saluted, turning to the communication valve. "All hands: man the anti-aircraft batteries and prepare for ground-to-air combat!"

Then, Benaris frantically called the bridge, indicating their swiftly advancing enemy.

"The planes are coming down straight for us! Two Corsairs with rockets banking towards the bridge. Their—!"

The transmission was abruptly cut off by static, as the line fell dead. Westhus tried desperately to contact Benaris, and ask him what was happening out there. Without their lookout, they had no way of knowing if another ship would be coming, or just where the airplanes would come from and if any would circle behind them. In the meantime, Maximilian ordered the cannons to open fire again on the cruiser.

"Mr. Benaris!" Westhus screamed again and again. "Mr. Benaris, do you hear me? What's happening up there?"

"Triebig, make ready main guns! Range: 570 meters."

"570 meters."

"Projection, 13 degrees."

"13 degrees."

Just as he was about to give the order to fire, a large explosion landed near the bridge. The windows broke open with the Plexiglas shattered like mirrors dropped on the floor. Orange flames invaded the bridge and the force of the explosion sent everyone, officers and men flying back and off their feet. Maximilian himself was thrown against a wrought iron wall and felt something heavy strike him about the head before collapsing near the stairwell. Everything went black.

* * *

><p>The five youngsters were now gathered around Meg, entranced by her tale and her vivid imagery of the chaos of battle, the valor of her grandfather, and the gallantry of the <em>Firefly<em>'s crew. Seron, however still kept a straight pokerfaced disposition, despite inside being as wide-eyed as a scout listening to a scary story being told by the light of a campfire. All were on the edge of their seats, awestruck and wondering what would happen next to Meg's late grandfather, the brave captain that fought so hard and so successfully against the Roxchean fleet.

"He was about to open fire and send the cruiser to the bottom when a rocket," Meg continued, her voice filled with anticipation and poise, "launched by a Roxcehan Corsair, landed near the bridge. The force of the blast knocked him unconscious for the rest of the fight, sending him falling down the stairwell to the bottom."

Everyone save for Seron gasped, enthralled by her epic yarn, waiting to hear the next part of the her story. Jenny spoke up, not wanting the club to be kept in suspense.

"So what happened after he was knocked out, Meg?"

"Naturally without her captain," Meg continued, her voice foreboding and dark, "the tables were quickly turned against the _Firefly_. The cruiser managed to damage her guns, and the Corsairs wreaked terrible havoc upon the crew on deck."

Meg paused for a moment, partly because she wanted that fact to sink in with her fellow club members, but also because the thought of her grandfather lying somewhere on deck unresponsive and comatose as his crew suffered in a struggle against the unrelenting foe was simply too great of her to think of. She held back a tear as she continued.

"By the time he came to, he found himself tied to a mainmast on deck, and his entire crew was gone. The Roxcheans had won and had seized control of the ship, and every last _Firefly_ crewman that had survived the battle was executed or forced to take their chances in the river."

"That's awful!" Natalia remarked, removing her spectacles to rub her eyes. "What happened to Sir Maximilian then?"

"He might have died on the ship, too, but he did something no one would have expected."

* * *

><p>Maximilian woke up, and found himself bound and immobile. He was tied to the mainmast, ropes running circles around his body. He found long lines of sailors, none of whom he recognized, transferring nondescript items of value to the ship from a lifeboat down at the waterline, out of his view. None of the sailors wore the standard uniform of the Bezelese Navy, which was regal white with a black collar, but instead they wore dark blue sailor suits with white collars…the uniform of the Roxchean Federal Navy.<p>

"What happened?" he asked in a daze. "Where's my crew?"

No one answered him, nor did he expect anyone to. The eastern scum were as reticent and prideful as they were cruel. He wouldn't be surprised if the lot of them had keelhauled his entire entourage. He could not escape the fact; all were dead. Westhus, Triebig, Kropp, Voss, Benaris, they were all lost, more food to satisfy the appetite of the war. It was in moments like these that he truly wondered why in God's good name the war still continued unabated and with ever increasing brutality and ferocity. What were they fighting for? Who was to blame? Did it even really matter in the end? Even if he died in the next second, the war would just go on, and on, and on. Who would mourn him? Only his family. Maybe members of the Admiralty. But besides them, no one would give a passing glance to an old fool who had lived through and bore witness to the horrors of a continent gone mad.

His musings were broken when he caught sight of an brown-bearded officer approaching him decked in black, wearing the rank of Commodore on his sleeves and epaulettes. The officer's hat bore the symbol of that hated nation, the Arrow of Theron, piercing the heart of he and his western comrades with a searing pain worse than the Hell's hottest flames. As he approached him, Maximilian smelled his rancid breath which reeked of rum and whiskey, and even his facial features gave further evidence to his insidious and ambiguous nature. His cindering grey eyes still held a fire that seemed to scorch his very soul as he slowly spoke, his voice dark and threatening,

"Greetings, barbarian of the setting sun. I am Commodore Gregory Sirov."

"Your servant, eastern scum," Maximilian returned sardonically. "And I am Sir Maximilian Straussky."

Sirov furrowed his brow, his ash eyes smoldering as it shot fiery arrows that pierced Maximilian's heart.

"The name Sirov should make your blood freeze, seadog."

Maximilian lowly growled, still defiant even in agonizing defeat.

"Never mind," Sirov sloughed him off. "You and your ship have caused quite a fuss for us, Sir Maximilian. You've sunk the _Huntsman_ and took down my friend Captain Frazier, and as we speak my ship is sinking because of your devilish gunners. My men are just transferring the necessary equipment over to your ship, as you can very well see."

"Did you come just to tell me that?" Maximilian posed, skeptically.

"No, you doddering old fool!" Sirov spat. "Your ship has earned quite the reputation since this war began, and now that we have your ship, we intend to make its secrets known."

He stepped closer and the stench of rum was overpowering for Maximilian as he issued his dire warnings.

"Now, we can't have you muddling up our little investigations, can we? So you best enjoy the hours of the night, Sir Maximilian, because tomorrow at dawn, you die."

Sirov promenaded off, laughing in triumph as the last sailor came up with his box, completing the transfer. Sirov made his way up the superstructure (which, Maximilian noticed, was bruised by shells and rockets) to the bridge. Maximilian felt the ship suddenly lurch and then begin moving away as the ship's horn blew. He looked off to the north, and saw the cruiser that had caused him and his crew so much ire sink into the depths of the river, stern first. Maximilian smiled in defiance as the sun slowly began to set casting an eerie and heavenly glow upon the ship as it disappeared beneath the waves. His crew was gone, his ship was captured and he may die in the morning, but he had at least wreaked terrible havoc on his enemy one last time before completing his career.

The ship sailed away, and the small feeling of pride that had once captured his heart was slowly pushed aside by shame as he heard the cheers and cries of joy from the raucous Roxchean sailors, celebrating their victory over the "barbarians of the setting sun."

Just who was right in this war? And what was the fighting all about in the end?

Those questions bit and chewed at his brain as the ship sailed away towards his uncertain future.

* * *

><p>"That night," Meg pressed on, still trying to hold back tears of anguish at the mental image of her ancestor tied to a mast and at the mercy of the enemy, "the <em>Firefly<em> moored under Roxchean colors in a cove of Green Island. The plan of Commodore Sirov was to make rudimentary repairs to the ship before bringing her to a Roxchean port as a spoil of war."

Seron, for the first time since the meeting began, looked up from his book with his stern and hard cobalt eyes and spoke.

"Sir Maximilian obviously could not let the _Firefly _fall into enemy hands," Seron observed, having just finished reading the section on naval combat in the Green Island War. "That would have been a military disaster for Sous-Beil."

"Exactly," Meg concurred. "So he made a daring, but risky plan. The Roxchean sailors were celebrating, having raided the ship's galley and found the entire supply of rum. Little did they know that Maximilian was finding a way out from his bondages…"

* * *

><p>The sailors knew how to tie knots, that was for sure, but Maximilian was a seaman first and foremost, and if there was anything a seaman knew how to do, it was tie and untie knots. His hands struggled out of his bonds, but he knew his way around the rope enough to get himself free and push the ropes off him.<p>

The night echoed with the drunken cheers and carousing of the Roxchean sailors, intoxicated with their own victory. Some of them had even passed out from an overdose of liquor. Their inebriated state would provide the perfect smokescreen for him to put his plan into action. Their roistering continued as he scoured the deck for a weapon in case he was discovered.

Upon his way to a stairwell leading into the bowels of the ship, he found a Roxchean officer, passed out and sprawled on the floor from intoxication, the smell of rum sickening like a heavily applied cologne. Maximilian spotted a weapon that would suit his needs: a small sword, hooked at the hilt to his belt. He would no longer be needing it after tonight, he thought as he unhooked the scabbard and unsheathed the sword slowly.

The roistering and jovial singing of his enemies grew louder as he drew open the wrought iron door. He chuckled, and quietly wished his unsuspecting enemies well.

"That's right, my lambs," Maximilian laughed as he carefully went down the steps. "Keep to your drink. You shall soon have a surprise from me that none shall ever forget…"

He grabbed a flashlight from off the walls and began his descent into the depths of the ship with only the light from his torch guiding him. Keeping an eye out for signs leading him to the storage room, he contemplated just what he hoped to do with this ship as it now rested with the enemy.

The _Firefly _was the pride and very lifeblood of the Bezelese Navy, a jewel in the King's crown, so to speak. As such, its blueprints and layout were guarded with tight secrecy, never word breathed outside of the Admiralty. If Roxche knew all its secrets, it would not only be a coup for them, but they may prove to bring Sous-Beil's own weapons against them in the development of future ships. The _Firefly_ would not be surrendered to anyone…except to one…

He found a sign on a metal door indicating the magazine. Chuckling to himself, he opened the door and soon set to work searching for a bomb. Roxche would not have her prize from the West. The war was not about to be lost because the King's most valued ship fell into enemy hands. No one would have the ship. Not even he would. No, instead Roxche would snatch defeat from the jaws of victory as Maximilian would sit off to the sides laughing at what was about to occur.

He soon scavenged some TNT and satchel charges, and produced a long fuse to be set. The fuse was set at 20 minutes, which should, he reasoned, give him enough time to get off the ship in safety and catch a glimpse of the spectacle he had prepared.

"This little celebration wouldn't be complete without a few fireworks…"

"AHA!" cried a voice from somewhere behind him. "So you'd blow us all sky-high, would you?"

Maximilian turned around to see who was there, and saw on the stairwell, poised with an officer's sword unsheathed from its scabbard and aimed at Maximilian's face, Commodore Sirov. The ash grey eyes glinted in the poor light of the magazine and his silhouette stood tall, forbidding and dark against the gunmetal grey walls. Each step he made down the stairs echoed and seemed to shake the entire ship to its core. Sirov's beard parted and his deep voice spoke with the grave apprehension of an executioner awaiting the condemned.

"The night shall be short for you, my dear barbarian. Your death comes nigh, Sir Maximilian!"

"Have at you, braggart!" Maximilian retorted as he lunged forward, intending to strike him down quickly.

Sirov parried him and kicked him back down the stairwell, knocking him on his back. Sirov charged in poised for the kill, but Maximilian blocked hi attack and rose to his feet, fighting for every inch of the ship that had fallen into enemy hands. The clash of steel against steel echoed in the magazine as a battle of wills played out on the stage of an ongoing war.

"I'll shave off your beard, western slime!" Sirov taunted as he tried to slash his shoulder.

"And I'll pluck your feathers, vulture!" Maximilian retorted as he parried his attack.

Maximilian advanced swiftly and fiercely, never once letting up in his defense of the ship that had meant so much to him. He had forced him to the walls of the magazine, and continued to lay his blade on him to no avail and with much resistance from Sirov. Their blades were caught and Sirov asked Maximilian the damning question that surely Maximilian himself must be asking.

"Why do you bother fighting when you know you have lost, Sir Maximilian?"

"I have not lost yet. There is still one objective I have left in this fight."

"And what is that?"

"I won't let you have this ship!"

They broke apart and Maximilian surged forward aiming for Sirov's fighting arm. Sirov reacted fast enough to parry and made for a cut across the sleeve of Maximilian's free arm. Still, that did not deter the veteran seaman as he circled around, looking for an opening in his opponent to exploit. In the meantime Sirov went for his leg and scored a cut across his shin, but Maximilian refused to give in and continued to fight to the bitter end. Sirov laughed smugly.

"You say you will never let me have this ship, Sir Maximilian, but it seems your ship has already abandoned you…"

Maximilian charged him and lunged, but Sirov caught wind of his attack and their blades came together, warriors staring into each other's eyes with glares and glints of cold steel bayonets.

"You forget," Maximilian retorted, hissing. "A ship never leaves her captain."

He kicked him hard in the abdomen and sent Sirov onto his back. Maximilian saw this as his chance to end the duel and brought his blade down on him, but Sirov quickly rolled over and the attack barely missed him by inches. As he struggled to his feet, Maximilian came at him again and full throttle, hoping to exact revenge for his crew and his captured ship, and attacked towards his sides and fencing arm. Sirov parried with skill and finesse and landed another cut on his shoulder, parting the sleeve of his officer's coat revealing his white dress shirt. Sirov thought for sure the fight was his as he charged in for the kill.

Maximilian was not about to give in as he sidestepped Sirov and tripped him, sending him careening over himself and landed face first on the wrought iron floor. Maximilian sent his blade down on him in a slashing motion, but Sirov turned on his side and blocked it, unable to return to his feet. Maximilian in the meantime became more aggressive and ferocious in his attacks as time after time his sword clashed with Sirov's as the chorus of metal against metal formed a requiem for his fallen crew, his officers, his ship. The eulogy then turned into a coda for revenge as Maximilian knocked the blade out of Sirov's hand and stabbed his wrist, rendering it unusable. He stomped his foot on him, pinning him to the floor as he swiftly brought the blade down in a stabbing motion for the final kill.

With a sound of steel cutting into flesh, Maximilian landed a critical wound on Sirov, straight through his heart. Sirov cried out in agony as Maximilian twisted the sword, now lodged deep in his chest around and said his parting words.

"May Heaven forgive your wicked soul, Commodore Sirov."

He pulled the sword from his body with a sharp cry followed by a low quiet moan as Sirov felt his life slowly slip away from him. With the matter of Sirov done, Maximilian went back to work with the dynamite and set the fuse for 20 minutes, placing it amidst crates of explosive shells. Once the dynamite was set off, the entire magazine would blow and create a chain reaction destroying the ship. It was incredibly hard for him to part with a ship he had served on faithfully for two years, but such was the obligations that came with being a soldier as well as a sailor.

Without another word and with only the sound of the crackling fuse slowly burning, Maximilian made his way out of the magazine, knowing that time was of the essence, lest he be taken down with his ship as well. No, he intended to live on, if only for the new family that awaited him upon his return from service. And he would tell his sons of what transpired here.

Making his way to upper decks of the ship, he still heard the Roxchean sailors carousing and giddy with inebriation, completely unaware of the plight that befell their commodore and of the fate that awaited all of them in a little under 20 minutes. He reached one of the longboats stationed on the upper deck, and carefully launched, making sure not to attract the attention of the drunken sailors. With 10 minutes left according to his watch, he lowered the boat into the dark river waters below, the sounds of celebration and glee still breaking the still quiet of the night.

"That's right, my lambs," he laughed to himself as he gently loosed the falls on the boat, taking it lower and lower. "Drink and be merry, for soon you will all have a gift to remember me by…"

The boat touched the water and he quickly cut the falls with the cold steel of his sword. Then, slowly like morning mist and silently as the grave, he rowed the small boat away in the direction of Green Island. Thus he watched his beloved _Firefly_ drift further and further from his view and growing smaller and smaller on the horizon. The explosion was due any second now as he committed to his memory what would be the last glimpse of the ship he had served and fought with for more than two years. A small tear dropped from his indigo eyes, wondering how he might break this to not just the Admiralty, but also his family, who took great pride in his life of a sailor. He would continue on after this fight, but never would he forget the great battles and triumphs that that ship brought him.

Then, at 3:30 in the morning, two wires on the hands of a clock touched.

The magazine of the ship exploded in a colossal boom that echoed the thunder of God's wrath. Just as he had planned, the rest of the ship blew itself apart in the subsequent chain reaction, creating a massive display night illuminations to rival any New Year's celebration. Maximilian shipped the oars of the longboat in and stood up as he watched his gallant ship take on water and sink into the dark depths of the river he had spent his whole life on, cheering at retribution being inflicted by the appropriate agents. In one heartfelt and jubilant cry as his stern eyes filled with moist and sorrowful tears, he called to his unfortunate comrades, letting each know of what had transpired this night, and of how they could all rest in peace.

"JUSTICE IS DONE!"

* * *

><p>"So perished the <em>Firefly<em>," Meg concluded, taking off the captain's hat and examining it reflectively, "that valiant ship commanded by Sir Maximilian Straussky. And of all the Roxchean seamen aboard her, not one escaped with his life."

"What happened to Sir Maximilian after that?" asked Larry curiously.

Meg turned to everyone, seeing they still saw more to this story than she was letting on, and sighed, smiling. Even though the story might have ended in bittersweet tragedy within triumph, it still was a story she was swollen with pride of telling, a story of a hero in her eyes. She pushed back one of her pigtailed hair locks and set down the captain's hat, picking up the heavy manuscript which had all the secrets and exploits of her dear grandfather recorded for her and future family to see. Nevertheless, she was proud to share it with these, her dearest friends.

"My grandfather beached his longboat on Green Island, where he was found by a Bezelese infantry patrol. He stayed on with them for three months, whilst trying to get in contact with the Navy. Before he could reach them, however, the patrol was attacked and destroyed by a superior Roxchean force, and he was forced to flee the island. From there, he made his way to the base of the Central Mountains at the confluence of the Lutoni River. He stayed on there for two more months before he was picked up by a ship that carried him home."

She then plopped the heavy manuscript into her lap and opened it, turning to the last pages of the book.

"That's where his journal ends," she continued, her eyes denoting something more mysterious to this grand tale. "But here is the strangest part of the whole story…"

She showed the pages, which looked to be official decrees of some sort written in cursive Bezelese by her grandfather. All the members of the club leaned in with keen interest as Meg tied up the last loose end in this long yarn.

"These last two pages are a sort of will and testament, in which he left to each of his three sons a model—built and rigged by himself—a model of the same ship he scuttled rather than leave her to the Roxcheans. There's one odd detail…"

She then extended her delicate forefinger to the last two lines of the will before his signature.

"…he instructs his sons to move the smokestack slightly aft on each ship. 'Thus,' he finishes, 'the truth will be revealed.'"

Meg closed the book and set it back on the coffee table, looking around at the awestruck and wondrous faces (with the exception of Seron), lost in the forests of amazement at the spellbinding and riveting tale Meg had passed onto all of them. They all leaned back into their seats the truly enthralling story still sinking into their memories as the _Firefly_ sank all those years ago. Sir Maximilian was a hero, they all thought, and his deeds ought to live on in history for all to remember! What all of this meant for their little club, no one could tell just yet. That is, no one except for Seron who, as always gave no clue to his intentions.

"Your granddad was really something else, Meg," Nicholas said at last, breaking the silence.

"Yeah," Jenny concurred, her ruby eyes bright like glowing amber, "he sounds like a real hero to me! That's such a fascinating story!"

"It's really amazing to think all that happened," Natalia reflected, adjusting her spectacles, "and we learned nothing about it in class…"

"That settles it, then," Seron said with finality. "The treasure's as good as ours."

As if the world had come to a grinding halt thanks to the opening of his mouth, all eyes turned to Seron, who sat in his chair, comfortably with book in hand. Natalia still showed signs of doubt in her dark eyes magnified behind her spectacles. Jenny looked eager yet at the same time unsure of what he meant, and, for that matter, just what any of this meant. Nicholas was befuddled and confused as he scratched his scalp, running his fingers through his long brown hair. Larry, who was the only one out of all in the club who knew what it meant, sat poised and prepared to back his friend up in what he would deliberate to all of them.

And Meg?

Meg, who was connected to all of this from the very start, sat with mouth parted and indigo eyes glistening, knowing that Seron, her dear friend with his quick wit and sharp mind, had something to say about all of this, and knowing that only he could put all of what she shared in perspective and in the appropriate context, lest they lose track of the entire case that was panning out before them.

"What do you mean?" Natalia asked skeptically. "What has Meg said that proves there's some treasure at all?"

"In the last will and testament," Seron explained, "Sir Maximilian told each of his sons to move the smokestack on the ship. Why would he do that?"

"How can we know?" Nicholas said, throwing up his hands in loss. "Perhaps he was a particular man and wanted the ships to be perfect."

"If that's true," Meg started, Seron's point starting to become clear, "why would he ask his sons?"

"Exactly," Seron put in, supporting her. "He would have done it himself. So why ask his sons?"

He then fished his hand into the breast pocket on his shirt, as he continued to contextualize.

"Because if his sons did as he asked, they would have found a scroll hidden in each smokestack…one of which I happen to have right here, from the ship I bought at the Capital Market."

He produced the small scroll and handed it to Meg, not giving a smidgeon of intent to anyone else. Meg unrolled the parchment and examined it with her dark navy eyes. Jenny and Natalia leaned over and tried to decipher the strange message on the parchment along with their friend from across the river.

"What does it say on there, Meg?" Jenny asked curiously.

"'Three brothers joined…'" she began.

"That's the three sons," Larry put in.

"'…three Fireflies in harmony, sailing in the morning sun will speak,'" Meg continued slowly.

"That must mean we need to get the other two ships," Nicholas deduced.

"Yeah," Meg tempered them all, "but the rest of it isn't so easy. 'For 'tis from light that the truth will be revealed, and then shines forth the sword and the arrow.'"

"What could that mean?" Natalia queried, straining her eyes to make sure she was reading it right. "The last bit doesn't give any hint as to what the treasure is… and what does a sword and arrow have to do with anything?"

"That I don't know," Seron concluded, "but one thing I _do_ know is that if we get the other two scrolls, then we shall find the _Firefly_'s treasure."

Meg handed the scroll back to Seron and her eyes begged for guidance in this strange and alien world of deduction and reasoning that he had led them all into.

"Do you know where the other two scrolls are, Seron?" she asked.

"I know where _one_ of them is."

"Well speak up!" Nicholas piped, his green eyes turning over to Seron in anticipation. "Where is it?"

"It's inside the second _Firefly_, owned by a certain Sergei Petrovich Kozin."

"Well, what are we waiting for?" Jenny cried, leaping to her feet. "Let's go into the Capital and get it!"

"A good idea," Natalia concurred, standing up as she brushed off her skirt. "If we get the second one we might have better clue of just what kind of treasure we're going after."

"I'll phone Mr. Kozin and let him know we're coming," Seron said finitely, putting away his book back into the shelf where he found it.

With that, the meeting was concluded and a new objective was assigned: obtain the second scroll. As Jenny led the entire club out cheerfully singing her own rendition of "Dead Man's Chest," Meg came to speak with Seron privately. Seron felt weak in the knees again as Meg acted closer than usual with him, speaking softly and her words tickling like butterflies.

"Thanks, Seron," she said with a smile that glowed golden.

"F-for what?" he asked, trying hard to suppress his nervous stammer.

"For helping me to remember!" Meg said with a hearty laugh. "If you hadn't bought that ship for me, I might never have remembered anything about my grandfather or what he did on his ship all those years ago."

She touched his shoulder with her fragile hand, her touch warm and soothing. Seron's heart beat at the rate of a hummingbird and thought for sure he would melt into jelly from her caring touch. If only he could tell her what he felt in his heart now, and just why he had bought that ship for her. If only he could tell her why he was going to all of this trouble solving a mystery that, in the end, was more about her than it was about him. He did not change one feature in his face as she leaned over and whispered,

"You help me rediscover my history, Seron, for that I thank you."

"I-I'm g-glad I could help," Seron said, trying to hide the immense happiness and euphoria he felt in his bones from her contact.

Why on earth wasn't he embracing her, as she practically begged for it?

"B-but Meg," he continued, "th-this hunt of ours means there's still more to your grandfather than any of us know."

"Yeah. So, let's go find our treasure, shall we?"

And with that, they walked out the door, and what came next in this new adventure of theirs was unknown. His guess was as good as hers, but there was one thing he knew to be certain: they would never be the same again after this escapade.

* * *

><p>AN: Whew. That took me a while to plug out, but I'm glad I got it. I'm sorry it took me so long to get this done, as college has really been eating into my time. Chapters might come slower because of all that's happening right now, but I hope you'll stick with me for the long haul, as this is going to be the biggest A&L fanfiction yet!

As always, read and review!

Until next time,

Jordan


	4. Chapter 4: Players in the Shadow

**Chapter Four: The Players in the Shadow**

A short column of three motorcycles sped down the main avenue through the Capital, taking care to avoid traffic around the square. In each of the three motorcycles were a pair of students from the academy, all poised with the same goal. Their destination? A flat in the capital that was home to an elderly collector and owner of a model ship that had piqued all their interests.

The students drove in teams of male and female but who actually was the driver was a different conversation. Jenny, being the daughter of the executive of Jones Automotive Company, naturally drove her motorcycle wanting to show off her driving skills to Nicholas, who provided an otherwise unwilling audience in the sidecar. She often liked to boast of being a test driver for any new car her parents patented. Normally she would be at the head of the pack, leading the cavalcade to wherever they needed to investigate for their next story. This time however, she was at the very rear of the convoy, following her newest top reporter Seron who sat on his motorcycle at the head, with Meg in the sidecar. Seron brought her up to speed about Mr. Kozin, the owner of the second _Firefly_.

"I suspected him at first," Seron started, trying hard to talk over the drone of the engine. "When I saw the second model, I was certain he was the culprit. But then he showed me the ship and I saw that its smokestack wasn't broken."

"So why did he want your model so badly?" Meg asked, shouting while pushing aside a lock of hair from her face.

"He thought his model was an original; he's owned it for more than 10 years now. So he was naturally interested in my model, an exact replica."

"But if he has one, and if you had one, where's the third one?"

"That I don't know. But we should at least get the second scroll first."

They turned a corner, avoiding the congestion around Capital Square and led the small motorcade of students into the residential section of the capital, towered by apartments complexes and the streets marked by planted cypresses at regular intervals. Occasionally they would see the name of a high-end apartment building such as "Comfort Arms" or "The Paradiso," but Seron's stoic and unexpressive cobalt eyes only looked for the sign that would lead them to their model collector, and their next clue in the search for this illusive and mysterious treasure.

As he searched and mentally plotted their course, Meg was confounded. Never would she have thought that she would be at the epicenter of this new escapade. The entire treasure hunt was because of her grandfather's deeds, and if he never crafted the ship, Seron would never have noticed it that day in the market. But why? Why would Seron undertake a mystery that didn't even have a connection to him? Why undertake an investigation for her?

"Seron?" she asked, speaking as loud as she could over the loud engine.

"Yes, Meg?"

"I have a question. Why are you so interested in this case?"

Seron looked to her as if it was a notion that didn't even bear considering. In a moment, he felt as if his loyalty and love for her was subconsciously being challenged by her in his pursuing this newfound case. Was it God posing a test to him to prove his love was genuine? He gave no clue to her of the silent debate being deliberated in his head as he gave her his answer over the loud humming of the engine.

"You and I both have a dog in this fight, Meg. I bought that ship for you, and I want to get it back so you can have it. And whatever treasure Sir Maximilian found is rightfully yours. He built the ships to give to his family, and you're a part of it, Meg."

"But that's just it, Seron," Meg pressed, still unsatisfied. "This whole matter concerns me since it's my grandfather and, by rights, my ships. Why does this matter to you so much?"

Seron averted his eyes from her, pondering the question himself. The answer was readily apparent to him, but he wasn't sure if this was the right moment to bring up his real reason for why he pursued this case and why he undertaking this investigation all for her. It was far too soon to talk about such things now, and he reasoned they still had a long way to go before this mystery was fully solved. Still, Meg deserved an answer, even if it wasn't completely true.

"B-because you're m-my f-friend, Meg."

He prayed in his head that would satisfy her question for now, as the answer was far more personal and one that required a serious and heartfelt conversation with her. Seron looked over, and saw Meg had a smile on her gentle and sweet face. Her indigo eyes darted to him and he felt a tightness in his chest and his entire body turn numb. The motorcycle swerved for a moment but he brought himself back down to earth in an instant for fear of losing control.

"That means a lot to me, Seron," she said, batting her eyes at him with a smile that would make any man fall in love. "Thank you."

"Y-you're welcome…always."

Just then Seron spotted the street sign reading Oak Avenue and turned, keeping an eye on the right side of the road and watching the numbers as they steadily increased by twos.

"36…38…40…" Meg slowly counted as they went past each apartment building.

"Here we are," Seron called, pointing to the flat. "42 Oak Avenue."

Seron immediately signaled the motorcade to come to a halt on the side of the road. They parked their motorcycles in a perfect column, one behind the other, and dismounted, following their lead investigator to the front entrance of the flat of their person of interest. Seron pointed the way, saying,

"This is the place. He's expecting us."

They walked down the street to the flat in single file, getting a good look at the flat. It was rather modest standing at about 3 stories tall with three windows on each level. The building was made from brick and mortar colored a faded red up to the roof which had white plaster and grey stone crowning the flat. It was the kind of flat that anyone from any walk of life, Roxchean or Bezelese, could be found in. As the six friends approached the front entrance, an elderly woman in her mid-50s came rushing out of the flat, screeching like an eagle's call with fear in her beady grey eyes as if the worst crime imaginable had just unfolded before her.

"EEEEEEEKKKKK! Heaven help us!"

At that shrill scream, the sextet of students sprinted to the front door and inquired of the elderly woman what was the matter.

"Is something wrong madam?" Meg asked, concern shimmering in her dark eyes.

"Wrong?" The woman repeated incredulously, her beady eyes growing to the size of saucers. "Wrong? 'Is something wrong,' she says! I should very well say so!"

"What is it? Perhaps we can help," Meg offered earnestly.

"I'm terribly sorry, children, but I'm afraid—Oh, Lord love us!—I'm afraid there's nothing you can do for me. It's poor Mr. Kozin. Mr. Kozin is dead!"

The six students' jaws dropped to the pavement, as they realized what a dangerous fix this would put them in, not only for their little treasure hunt but also for their lives. While the others looked at each other uneasily and some even wondered if perhaps they should call off the hunt, Seron stepped forward and spoke the old woman, his cobalt eyes hard and unrelenting.

"Madam, is it possible for us to come in and see for ourselves?" he asked candidly. "Mr. Kozin was expecting us."

"I suppose you could, but it shan't benefit you any. Oh, what kind of heartless fiend would murder dear old Mr. Kozin?"

As the old woman lamented and mourned, Seron led the club in and searched for any sign of Kozin. He wasn't in the hall, which as he first found it; Spartan and bare. Seron pointed to the sign marked **DISPLAY** in bold Roxchean and led them all in, quietly hoping that Mr. Kozin was in there and fully alive and well. His cobalt eyes turned left and saw a red armchair of linen, and there, sprawled out on the floor looking dead for all intents and purposes, was their second ship owner, Mr. Kozin.

He was dressed in a red plaid robe tied at the waist with brown embroidered pockets, lying on his stomach in a daze. His face and his balding head were flushed and bright red as if he had had far too much to drink. Reading spectacles lay perched lazily on the bridge of his hook nose. His body was perfectly still and made not a sound. At a glance, he was as good as dead.

Seron carefully, cautiously approached the body as Meg, Jenny, and Natalia stifled a scream of shock at the sight of a corpse. Larry stood to the side, examining the body with a hint of suspicion and apprehension in his blue eyes, clearly not convinced that he truly was dead. Nicholas tried to comfort the girls and ease their pain as Seron tentatively pressed his two fingers onto Mr. Kozin's neck. He felt something. A gentle rhythmic pulsation, but not conspicuous enough to easily discern the state of their collector. He confirmed with Nicholas as he turned his green eyes to him to inquire if the old woman's allegations were indeed true.

"Dead?" he asked, fearing the worst.

"No," Seron replied, "he's alive. Just unconscious."

They all breathed a sigh of relief as their crisis had been narrowly averted. Now they could get some answers from their collector once he came to. But that also brought up another quandary that no one could solve: why was he unconscious in the first place? The answer soon came as Meg pointed to a display table in the center of the room, her violet eyes wide in visible shock.

"Seron, look! It's my ship!"

Seron looked up, and the worst of his fears were made manifest when he saw Kozin's battle cruiser, the same battle cruiser that he had mistaken for his own that carried the name **FIREFLY** on the stern, sitting perched on the table but with one oddity to its form: the smokestack had been broken off.

"I knew it," Seron responded to himself as he stood up and examined the model. "We're not the only ones searching for the _Firefly's_ treasure."

"What do you mean?" Natalia inquired as she and the others walked over to Seron.

"Look at this."

Seron showed his classmates and his secret love the smokestack that had been broken off, and to their surprise it was completely hollow, and small enough to fit in a small rolled up piece of paper to be found. They all realized it as quickly as a lightning flash on a stormy autumn night. Seron had been right on the money about everything. The model, the scrolls, the story of Meg's ancestors. It all added together and fit squarely like pieces in a well-made puzzle. Larry looked to his friend with sapphire eyes that spoke of uncertainty and concern, knowing exactly what this meant not just for the treasure, but for all of them. It was now a race, and it was against players who didn't go by the rules, as was evidenced by the school shooting.

"Someone's beat us to the scroll," Larry breathed, still trying to comprehend the gravity of the situation.

"Then that means…" Meg began, examining the model while her violet eyes dashed back between the empty smokestack and Seron worriedly.

Seron, always proved to be cool and calm in tense and dangerous situations, but no adventure before had ever been as treacherous or as life-threatening as this. With one scroll in the possession of an unknown party, it was only a matter of time before they came after all of them and got the third scroll, as all three were needed to discover the location of the treasure. Seron's cobalt eyes glinted with a fiery luster but he gave not one clue to his thoughts as he mentally barricaded himself in the fortress he had constructed to keep all others out.

"We have one, and they have one," Seron said matter-of-factly. "We have to find the third one and fast, or else…"

"Or else what, Seron?" Meg asked in a plea, clutching at Seron's sleeve.

Seron hesitated to tell her, for fear of scaring her with the prospects of just what lay in store for them. The attack on him at the school proved that whoever was after the scrolls would get them at any cost even if it meant murder. Since he held a scroll, they would target him again, and they might potentially threaten her to get what they wanted. His mind was made up, and shakily took Meg's hand in his.

"Or else they will come after us," Natalia remarked, shifting her glasses. "Whoever wants the scroll, they've proven they are not above using murder to get it. We'll have to watch our backs…all of us."

They all nodded resolutely, and deliberated on what to do next. It was logical to get information from Mr. Kozin once he came to about exactly what happened, and perhaps with some good fortune, they would get a clue as to who was behind this game of cat-and-mouse. They didn't have to wait long, as they heard a groan from behind them. The six students turned around to see their man in question slowly rise and climb into the armchair, clutching his head in obvious pain.

"Our corpse has come round!" Jenny shouted in rejoice, jumping into the air.

Natalia could only plant her face into the palm of her hand at Jenny's bad choice of words as Meg and Seron approached him to get an answer and find a clue to solve this mystery.

"Mr. Kozin," Meg asked politely, "are you alright?"

"Argh…I will be in a minute, thank you," Mr. Kozin responded, rubbing his eyes tiredly, still in a daze.

"Could you tell us what happened to you, Mr. Kozin?" Seron inquired, not wanting to beat around the bush.

"Rgh…it's very difficult to remember…it all happened so fast. Perhaps it was a dream?"

"We found you passed out on the floor, sir," Nicholas put in. "We can say it was definitely no dream."

"Please just tell us what you can remember, sir," Jenny encouraged, fishing out her notepad and pencil. "It could really help us figure out this whole business about the scrolls."

Mr. Kozin stroked his black-haired goatee and searched through the archives of his memories to find a suitable answer for the six youngsters. He knew as well as they that this was connected to the mystery behind the scrolls and the models. His dark eyes panned to each of them, and could see the desire to help and the eager anticipation on each of their faces, explorers looking for insights on setting foot in uncharted land. Slowly and methodically he gave what information he had to offer.

"Just after I received a call from you about the ships, someone else called me up, saying he had some old engravings that I would find fascinating. He offered to come over right away and drop them off for me to review later…"

Jenny wrote his story down and flipped to another page in her notepad as Seron coaxed him into further deliberation.

"Go on, Mr. Kozin."

"Yes…argh, my head…well, he came by and began to tell me the details about the engravings. I had gone to get my reading glasses to view them when I felt something cover my nose. I don't remember anything more after that."

Larry nodded, and in an instant knew just what had happened to their elderly collector.

"Chloroform."

"Yes, that's precisely it!" Mr. Kozin said, pointing to Larry as if a light bulb had turned on in his head. "He covered my nose with a cloth doused in chloroform!"

Meg and Seron inched closer to Mr. Kozin as Jenny scribbled that last added detail into her notepad. The next piece of information they needed would be the most important to solving this puzzle placed at their feet.

"Mr. Kozin," Seron said quietly, his cobalt eyes heralding a task of great import, "this is very important. Can you describe the attacker for us?"

Mr. Kozin rubbed his head and groaned, still shaky on his ability to recall. True, it meant a lot for the children that surrounded him, but the events happened so quickly and before he could discern what had happened he fell unconscious. The archives in his head had become a maze, whose hedges in desperate need of shearing.

"I only got one good look at the man…" Mr. Kozin began hesitantly.

As their spirits were all about to sink, Meg soon stepped up the game and saved them all as she quietly and soothingly said to him,

"We could really use your help here, Mr. Kozin. Just tell us what you can remember."

Mr. Kozin seemed to run laps through the maze of memories in search for that one glimpse, that one image of the man that had assaulted him and taken their scroll. It was a long and arduous search, one that seemed to take hours on end, but slowly, one by one, the facts came to form a distinct picture.

"Well…I remember he looked rather young with reddish hair. He had a brown suit and fedora, and I was sure that I had seen him from somewhere before…"

Seron stood up as he mentally snapped his fingers, recognizing the description. On that day in the Capital Market, when he first bought the ship that started this whole escapade, Sergei Petrovich Kozin was not the only person who hounded him and harangued him to buy the ship. There was another man, equally as persistent in his desire to buy that model and by extension have that scroll, and was just as tempting with his increasingly higher and more valuable bribes to snatch the ship intended for Meg from Seron's hands. He knew who it was in an instant.

"The man from the Capital Market…"

"Yes, yes!" Mr. Kozin said, finally having his memories back and his consciousness fully regained. "It was him! I know it was him!"

"By any chance, sir," Larry cut in, "did you get the man's name?"

"I don't think he ever did give me his name, unfortunately. That's why the whole call seemed strange to me. I am sorry I can't give more information."

"No, it's alright, Mr. Kozin," Seron admonished, "you've helped us a great deal already."

"Yes, thank you very much, sir," Meg added. "Now please do get some rest."

"Thank you, young lady. And I hope you all find that scroll."

"Thank you sir."

The six students filed out of the flat leaving Mr. Kozin to recover from his attack, but Jenny was thoroughly unsatisfied with such a vague description, and cast her doubts on ever being able to find the scroll.

"Well that guy was no help. A ''man in a brown suit' is not the most precise description in the world. How the heck are we going to find this guy?"

"It's better than no description at all," Nicholas protested. "We can at least put a report in for the police to search. They'll have better luck than us at this sort of thing."

"As much as I hate to say it," Seron stated gloomily, "Jenny is right. We need a name if we're going to get anywhere with this case."

"We'll just have to keep searching for the scroll then," Natalia concluded, "and hope that our brown suited man pops up somewhere."

They mounted their motorcycles and turned around heading back in the direction of their academy campus, all downcast by the lack of results in this treasure hunt. Not only had a scroll been swiped from under their noses but they had their assailant but could not pursue! Seron was the most depressed of the bunch, knowing that it may mean a dangerous future for not just him but Meg as well. Who knows when they would strike next and who they would target? He could not bear the thought of Meg being kidnapped or even killed by whoever had targeted him and stole the scroll. It was important to hold on to this last scroll and more importantly, keep Meg safe from harm. He made as much clear to her as he rode back at the head of the cavalcade.

"I'm sorry we couldn't make much headway today, Meg."

"Don't take it so hard, Seron," Meg reassured him with a bright smile, as if hiding behind a curtain that concealed something more depressing for her. "We at least got a physical description of who took it."

"It doesn't do much for us without a name to go with the face, unfortunately."

"Oh, don't be so negative, Seron!" Meg rejoined apprehensively. "You've got to keep your hopes up in times like this, and just pray that something will come along that may help us!"

"Whatever happens, M-Meg, they w-won't get the treasure. I p-promise you that."

Meg looked to Seron in shock, never once hearing him use the language vows to keep and hold close to the heart. As long as she had known him he was unassuming in the business of promises and in matters of the heart in general. He kept to himself most of the time as if he lived in a fortress that barred everyone, even her, from entering. For the first time, she could see a small chink in the castle walls open, a chink that was intended for her.

"Seron, what do you mean?" she asked slowly, unsure of just what he meant.

"J-just what I s-say," Seron said shakily. "I bought th-that ship for you, Meg, and whatever t-treasure the _Firefly_ holds is rightfully yours. They w-won't get the scroll from m-me, no matter what happens."

"That's a pretty big commitment you're talking about, Seron. Are you sure you can handle it?"

Seron gulped, knowing that it was a hefty order for him to take just for Meg. But his heart was as solid as a rock in his commitment to her. He had undertaken this entire case for her, and he would finish it for her. And if it really held as much connection to her that Meg let on, he would be right by her side through and through. It was what he could do for her simply because in his soul he loved her. There was no other reason he needed in his mind.

"Of c-course, Meg. I'm your…f-friend after all."

Meg smiled, seeing through Seron's stoic and impassive cobalt eyes saw someone whom she could trust, as much as she could trust Lillia, or Jenny or Natalia from club. He had stood by her in their adventures together and when things were tense he was always there to help her. Beneath the tough exterior that exuded an aloof and cold figure was a caring and kind boy, no different from her. It was surprising to her that someone as mild-mannered and unassuming as this boy that was driving her home would be the object of practically all the girls' affections on campus, looking past his top grades, physical stamina and calm disposition.

She was about to thank him when they saw a familiar-looking man wave to the small motorcade as it drove up a residential block, calling for them all to stop and chat with him for a while on matters of unknown import. Seron, sensing that this man perhaps knew what they were after (otherwise, why call them out?), signaled for the rest of their band to stop on the side of the road. He helped Meg out of the sidecar and came face-to-face with the man that called them out.

He had light auburn hair and looked to be in his mid-30s with eyes that shone of diamonds and precious gems found in a mine. His suit was brown with a red tie protruding from under his vest and atop his head rested a matching fedora while clopping black dress shoes heralded the march of his feet. Seron immediately ran the figure through his memories and soon found a match among the records of faces stored deep within his mind. The record spoke with a single phrase:

"_How much for the model?"_

His eyes narrowed but remained as expressionless and deadpan as ever. He confided in Meg just who this man was as he whispered in her ear, tickling her soft skin with his warm breath.

"I know him. It's the man from the Capital Market."

"You mean…?"

"Yes; the one we're after."

The man in the brown suit removed his fedora and modestly leaned forward as if introducing himself to royalty. He was about to speak when Jenny came running, calling out venomously to the man as if he was already condemned to the gallows.

"Hey, you!" she screamed, pointing an accusatory finger. "So you're the one that knocked out Mr. Kozin! Where's the scroll you stole from him, you crook?"

"Take it easy, Jenny," Nicholas laughed uneasily, "he must have called out to us for a reason so let's hear him out first."

"Please excuse her, sir," Natalia apologized, bowing. "She is easily excited."

With the matter of apologies swiftly concluded, the man in the brown suit then turned an eye to the black-haired boy and girl standing side by side, and addressed them with the utmost intent of confidentiality.

"Mr. Seron Maxwell?"

"Yes," Seron replied to his call, with a mark of mistrust in his voice. "What can I do for you?"

"My name is Reiner. I'd like a word with you, if I may, about this matter concerning the ships…"

He looked around, with fear glistening in his eyes as if he knew someone was watching them.

"…but we're not safe here. It'd be much easier for us to talk in my flat."

"Very well, sir. Lead the way."

The man in the brown suit ushered them all to follow him as they walked up to an apartment building standing beside a small flower garden. The man reached into his coat pockets to find his keys and began searching for the one that would lead them all into his flat. Meanwhile, a few blocks behind them, two figures parked in an idling blue sedan on the side of the road watched the small vignette unfold with clear apprehension.

"I knew it," said one in the backseat. "Reiner wasn't bluffing. He's going to tell them about us."

"He'll ruin everything!" confirmed the other. "They must not learn what's going on. You know what to do."

"Right. Drive."

The sedan drove forward as the one in the backseat grasped the stock of a gun and lowered the window, aiming at the seven figures as they sped closer and closer to Reiner's apartment building. The weapon was cocked and the iron sight were trained on the figures that were obstructions in their plans.

Jenny heard the sound of a revving motor and turned her garnet eyes to find the sedan pulling up on them at an alarming rate, clearly above the speed limit for such a narrow street.

"That car's going awful fast, isn't it?" she asked no one in particular, pointing to it.

Larry looked to the sedan, sensing something amiss and saw in the window the gleaming steel barrel of a weapon which appeared to be a submachine gun. He gasped as his soldier's instinct kicked in and sensed danger. It was something he was always told and taught to sense by his parents who had grown up as soldiers in the last years of a war that tore apart a continent before it was stitched back together. It was a familiar feeling whenever trouble was near on one of their club's adventures. He felt it here and now and if another second was lost it would be the end for all of them.

"A gun! Everyone, hit the deck!"

"Dammit, they spotted us!" cursed the driver. "Do it! Now!"

The air was quickly filled with tracers as shots were fired in quick succession. Seron grabbed Meg and plunged to the ground with her in his arms, forgetting in an instant all the terrible feelings of anxiety from even touching her, feeling only the need to protect her. Larry quickly followed holding his head fast and narrowly avoiding a bullet that he was sure intended for his head. Nicholas tripped on the steps, a mistake that saved his life as a bullet clipped off a lock of his long brown hair and lodged itself in the hard building walls. Jenny ducked as a tracer bullet tore through the sleeve of her uniform exposing her bare skin. Natalia's life was also spared as she hugged the walls for some vain protection while a bullet clipped the waistline of her school-issue skirt. Thankfully for her, it was not enough to have it fall off.

Once the rain of bullets had stopped, Jenny and Natalia pursued the car as it sped up the street and around a corner shouting all varieties of obscenities and curses.

"Bandits! Crooks! Trigger-happy thugs! Gangsters!"

And what of Reiner, the man in the brown suit?

He was not as fortunate as the rest. Three bullets had pierced his back and left holes in the oak brown door in front of him as they exited through his chest cavity. He staggered backwards grievously wounded as his sight began to blur and his senses started to fail him. He fell, Seron grabbing him by the shoulders as he collapsed into his arms while his brown fedora, through which the gunners had left their calling cards, fell to the stone cold pavement along with its master. Seron propped him up against the wall and Meg loosened his red tie, trying hard not to mind the blood that had stained his vest and the lapels of his coat. His grip on life weakening, Reiner offered the youngsters a warning.

"Take care…" he breathed, "and get out…while you still can. They…they will…kill you too…these men don't play nice…"

"Who? Who don't play nice?" Seron pressed, hungry for answers and seeing his chance at getting them fast slipping away.

"Who did this to you?" Meg added, sharing Seron's appetite for a clue to this mystery. "Tell us, please!"

Reiner shifted his eyes straight ahead and raised a trembling shaky hand, pointing to something. Meg and Seron looked to see what he pointed to across the street.

There before them stood an old church, perhaps more than a century old by the looks of it, built with mortar and stone. The windows were made of finely crafted stained glass presenting religious scenes from the old books and teachers and scholars passing on the knowledge they had dedicated their lives to study and repetition. The steeple stood high, perhaps more than 10 meters to the dark belfry where the choir of bells awaited for the next time to ring and call all to worship and reflection. Nothing in that church nor in its structure gave any clue to Meg, Seron, or anyone standing on that sidewalk, clutching the wounded Reiner and desperately searching for the truth that seemed to further elude their grasp.

"The church?" Meg asked quizzically. "What does he mean?"

"Mr. Reiner?" Seron called, shaking him slightly. "Mr. Reiner? Please tell us: what do you mean by the church?"

No response came from Reiner as his body grew heavy and his arms went limp. Seron, fearing the worst, placed his two fingers on his neck, and felt a slow and quiet pulse.

"Is he dead?" Larry asked.

"No," Seron reassured. "Just fainted. But we should get him to a hospital, and fast."

"I'll call emergency services right away," Nicholas vowed as he got to his feet and found the nearest phone booth.

Seron looked to Meg who had the hint of disquiet in her deep navy eyes, looking down to the unconscious form of Reiner. They were back where they started, and both of their spirits sunk as they felt the only thread that connected them to the truth of this case was cut in two. What on earth could he say to console her, and tell her it was going to be alright? What words could he give to her that said things would change and they still had a chance? He felt more helpless now than ever before in his life, and could only agree with Meg when she finally spoke.

"Looks like we're back to square one, eh, Seron?"

"Yeah. I think so."

* * *

><p>AN: Don't you just hate cliffhangers? Well here's another one if you're not sick of them yet! Meg and Seron just can't catch a break can they? What's next for our heroes? Read, review and alert this story to find out!

Until next time, gang!

Jordan

P.S. If anyone knows how to read and/or translate Japanese, please support the Allison and Lillia light novel English translations here: baka-tsuki(dot)org/forums/viewtopic(dot)php?f=15&t=3632


	5. Chapter 5: A Brief Respite

**Chapter Five: A Brief Respite**

The gentle pit-pat of Meg's shoes echoed through the corridors of the boys' dormitory hall, as if she was a knight in armor clanking through the dark corners of a castle. Dressed in her ordinary school uniform, she carried a newspaper under her arms with one small entry circled in a red marker, which bore bad news not just for her but for Seron and the rest of the newspaper club.

_Shooting Drama in the Capital_

_An unknown man was shot dead on Flyaway Road at 4:30pm yesterday. As he was about to enter the apartment building number 35, several shots were fired from a passing car which had slowed down opposite him. The victim was struck by three bullets in the region of the heart. He died without regaining consciousness._

Poor soul, she thought. No one will ever know what Reiner meant when he pointed to the church with the tall steeple. Now they were back where they started and with no clue as to who was the cause of all this violence and what they hoped to gain by getting the parchments. Luckily for them, they still had one parchment left, but it would mean little without the others, and both she and Seron knew it was only a matter of time until they came him, her, and everyone else in the club. He had to know, and if she didn't it would be only delaying the inevitable.

She found his dormitory on the top floor and near the stairwell leading to the front entrance and courteously knocked, hoping he was in.

"Seron? Are you home?"

She was delighted to hear his monotone voice answer her query.

"Yes, Meg. I'm inside. Come on in."

She slowly opened the door and found Seron sitting on the sheets of his bed, talking into the telephone on his nightstand. He faced away from her obviously in the middle of an important conversation. He ushered her in with a wave of his hand and she cautiously and diffidently took a few steps into his dormitory, closing the door behind her.

She noticed how there were few pieces of what would be considered memorabilia sporadically scattered throughout his dorm, the only noticeable things being the large volume of books he possessed on shelves that permeated the fleur-de-lis patterned walls. The room was void and blank, much like how he was a lot of the time. Even in moments of being alone he was so hard to read, being the stoic and impassive character he always was. But she was able to read through him and could sense what he truly felt behind that expressionless pokerfaced mask of his.

"Who are you talking to, Seron?"

"It's the hospital. I'm on the line with the doctor about Mr. Reiner."

"It's no good, I'm afraid," Meg said forlornly, "he's dead."

Seron raised a hand, indicating that the conversation had just started, and he needed to direct his attention to the doctor. But the nature of their banter would prove confusing and ambiguous to Meg, who had just today received the facts so mundanely.

"Hello? Is that the surgeon? This is Seron Maxwell…good morning to you, too, Doctor. How is Mr. Reiner?…Still the same?…Unconscious yet stable? I see…"

Meg rechecked the paper she had received earlier, and reread the article about the shooting. There was no mistake: the papers claimed he was dead. Why on earth was the doctor at the hospital saying otherwise, and why would the papers lie about the fate of a victim of a shooting?

"…Is there any hope for him, Doctor? Just a little…yes, please do call me if anything changes…Thank you, Doctor. Goodbye."

Seron hung up and turned to Meg who looked confused as if the greatest enigma in the history of the world had been put at her feet for her to solve. Her navy eyes read the lines of her newspaper again and again to make sure that her ears were not deceiving her, but she would have sworn that the wounds Reiner received were fatal. If he really was still barely alive, it was a true miracle.

"The hospital says he's alive," Meg protested, showing Seron the article circled with a red marker. "But look here: the papers say he's dead."

"That's the point," Seron said matter-of-factly, as if he was in on some great joke that she did not get. "the papers were told he died in the shooting. The crooks will believe he didn't give them away, so they won't be on their guard, and they'll eventually get caught."

"Ah, I see, now," Meg nodded, her violet-tinged mane swinging back and forth gently with the rhythm of her head.

But she now turned a discontented and befuddled frown as questions still held her mind captive.

"I'd still like to know what that poor fellow meant when he pointed to the church, though."  
>"As would I, Meg. It's all very mysterious."<p>

"So, detective," Meg said jokingly, nudging him in the shoulder, "what's our next move?"

She could hear Seron gulp down a hard lump in his throat and saw a small bead of sweat on his forehead, but nothing in his face gave any clue to what went through his head or in his heart. No one could penetrate the fortress he had built around himself to keep the world out…except her.

"I hate to say it," Seron said with no hint of disenchantment or penitence in his voice, "but we can't do anything right now. We just have to wait and hope that Mr. Reiner recovers from his wounds."

"You saw what those wounds did to him, though," Meg replied apprehensively. "There's no way he could easily survive three hits like that…is there?"

"Maybe not," Seron expressed raising a finger, "but we still have one chance left at finding out who's behind all this."

Seron pulled open a drawer of the nightstand and handed Meg a small slip of paper, clearly torn from a small notepad, with the scribbling of letters and numbers on it. Meg could hardly discern how this had a bearing on the case. What could this pattern of numbers and letters mean to him or anyone in their treasure hunt for that matter?

_M29XW—468OA_

"Seron, what's this?"

"Jenny gave it to me," Seron divulged. "When the car drove off, she and Natalia chased after it. Jenny managed to jot down the registration plate of the car before it left the scene. If we pass this through the automotive registry, we'll have the owners of the car. And when we have the owners…"

"We'll have our culprits," Meg said with wide eyes, her spirits burgeoning with newfound hope at this revelation.

"Exactly. Until then, we have to wait and be on our guard. It's only a matter of time until those crooks come after us as well."

Meg twirled one of her pigtails in her finger as her shoe sifted through the carpeting of Seron's dorm floor uneasily, now lost for a reason to be with him since he had just proven her thoughts on Reiner's fate false. Classes were about to start soon, and she had gotten up early just to tell him all this news. What on earth could she say now?

"Say…Seron…" Meg started hesitantly.

"Yes, Meg?" Seron responded.

As if on instinct, Meg blushed and turned away, lost and confused of what she could say to him now. If only Meg could understand just how alike they were in that one moment, face-to-face and lost for words to say to one another, and yet were different in motive. Meg's job was done as far as he was concerned, but Seron sought a way to ease the pressure that had built up between them as a result of this challenging case. Even if it was a normal day at classes with her he would gladly take it. He felt the urge to say something, anything, but his voice felt dry and his stomach quivered with the fluttering of a thousand butterfly wings. The shock from yesterday's shooting hung over them like a dark cloud ready to produce a strong and monstrous storm between them. He had to make the sun break through the dark cloud.

"Meg," he began, "what happened yesterday was awful, and—"

"It's not your fault, Seron…" Meg cut in, meekly. "No one would have known that the criminals would be there waiting for us."

"It…i-it isn't that, Meg," he struggled out. "W-what I mean is…if th-there is any way I can help you…any way at all…d-don't hesitate t-to ask me."

Meg's eyes saw through the chink in his fortress' walls and peered in, seeing what he truly meant behind the veneer of the aloof, cold, and distant school idol. She saw the opportunity placed before her feet and seized it immediately.

"Actually," Meg started, staring at her shoes, "I was wondering…if you had any free time after classes today?"

"I do. Why?"

"Well…could you perhaps…spend the day with me?"

Seron's body started to shake uncontrollably as if they were in the middle of an earthquake. He cleaned out his ears to make sure there wasn't anything in his ear that made him mishear something. Inside his head the choirs of angels sung a heavenly paean and his entire body rose in temperature but his face remained blank and expressionless as always. However nothing could hide the joy he felt as he mentally did back flips and all sorts of acrobatic feats in elation as his cheeks flushed with embarrassment at the question. It was too good to be true! Was this a dream? Was she actually…sincerely…asking him out?

"M-may I ask why?" he said hesitantly, still caught up in the shocking joy he felt.

"I just want to spend some time with you, Seron," Meg said timidly with a vulnerable look boys would die upon seeing. "What's the matter? Do…you not want to?"

Seron immediately shook his head and in a rare moment actually expressed disbelief that she would even think such a thing.

"N-no, no, th-that's not it at all!" he protested, waving his hands to dispel her notions. "I'm j-just…well…surprised."

"Why's that?" she asked innocently.

"No girl has ever asked me out before. You're the first one."

Meg's eyes narrowed with enticement and glinted with mischief as she giggled girlishly and twirled her pigtail again in her fingers.

"Oh am I now?"

"Yes," he admitted, slightly afraid of that stare Meg had in her navy eyes. "Whenever a girl talks to me they usually just give me a confession or something…"

"Do you get a lot of girls confessing to you?"

"M-more than I'd like."

She laughed again, much to his silent praise. Her large puppy-dog eyes, her flowing ebony hair, her silvery voice, and her delicate form seemed to shine as the sun's rays cut through the window pane, and for a moment he thought she was an angel descended from heaven on high. Why on earth wasn't he embracing her and telling her right now what he felt deep in his soul, and especially when she seemed to beg for it?

"So," Seron started again, "when would you like me to meet you?"

Meg put her finger to her lips pondering the question, striking a pose that made Seron quiver in his shoes. Was she enticing him or torturing him?

"You know that fountain outside the recreation building?"

"Yes…or, rather, I should hope so…"

"Meet me there after your last class. We can get a bite from the cafe nearby."

"Sounds l-like a…d-d-date."

Meg laughed again and smiled, her pearly white teeth almost blinding him in the morning sun.

"Great. See you then, Seron."

And with that she daintily carried herself out of the room and closed the door behind him, leaving him alone. The room may have been silent, but trumpets blared and a long band paraded through his head sounding the songs of sweet victory as he felt another step had been taken for the two of them and another ounce of courage had been deposited into his being. Inside his mind he made a cartwheel over to the bathroom and called through the door to Larry on the other side, Though he spoke in the same deadpan straight tone as always, Larry could instinctively perceive his excitement and wonder.

"Larry, something's happened. Get in here quick."

At that moment, Larry came in dressed in his school uniform struggling with his grey sweater vest, knowing that something was up; he instinctively knew what to expect from Seron even if he was as easy to read as book written in Ikstovan.

"What's up, pal?"

"Meg just asked me out," he said matter-of-factly, as if nothing was out of the ordinary.

That news finally prompted Larry to bring his head through the collar of the sweater vest revealing blue eyes widened in shock, never expecting any substantial progress to ever be made by his reticent and soft-spoken friend, much less expecting the timid and shy Meg to make the first move. Seron blinked, his cobalt eyes quivering and shimmering as if dipped in pools of gold, another chink in his great fortress made by her.

"I've never been happier in my life, Larry," Seron said plainly.

"That's great, pal!" Larry responded proudly, slapping him on the shoulder. "You finally got a date with your lady. Good for you, my friend."

Seron took his hand by the wrist and stopped his congratulations, addressing a more pressing concern.

"Larry, I've never been on a date before," he said, the worry breaking through the cracks in his personal fortress. "She said she wanted me to spend the day with her. Should I call the shots on what happens on our date? What can I talk about with her? Do you think this is the right moment for me to finally break out and tell her? What if something goes wrong and she hates me for it?"

Larry laughed and broke from Seron's grasp on his wrist, as he straightened his sweater vest and adjusted his green tie. He had heard Seron's plethora of concerns with Meg and how to confront her all too often, and there was nothing to set apart his anxiety today from his anxieties any other days when it came to her and matters of the heart. He always tried to help Seron, point him in the right direction, but it was no exaggeration to say that his continuous worrying did not wear on Larry.

"I think you worry far too much, pal. It's just the beginning of the day, and we got classes coming soon. You got plenty of time to mull over stuff like that."

"I suppose, but I'd at least like some pointers on what to do for a date."

Larry chuckled as he walked back into his dorm and left Seron in the shared bathroom with his parting contract between friends:

"We can talk about it over lunch time. Now let's get to class. A date won't mean anything if you're late to your first class of the day."

Seron nodded and reentered his dormitory to see to final preparations before leaving with Larry, knapsacks swung over their shoulders and his bright cobalt eyes filled with an energy the likes of which he had never felt before and probably never will feel again. Then they walked, with the only things on Seron's mind being what he would say to Meg on their first date, and what Meg would say to him.

* * *

><p>The day went on as normal as a day could go on after being caught in a drive-by shooting. As far as any of them were aware, no one in the school outside of their club knew they were even involved. Seron made the suggestion that no one else at the school be told what happened, lest the criminals target their fellow classmates. The club subsequently agreed and would hold off on all information until after the gunners had been caught. It may take a long time, but they all knew it was for the safety of themselves and those close to them. Seron was not preoccupied with such things, as he knew as well as Meg they could not hope to do much except wait and hope for information to come. Instead, this was an opportunity for him now to be closer to Meg.<p>

The mere thought of their date seemed like a dream, one that was far too good to be true. Throughout the day he searched for some catch that might be hung on the prospect of a day alone with the girl closest to his heart. But during art class, Larry ruled out any of those allegations without pause.

"What makes you think she's got a trick up her sleeve, pal?" Larry posed as he swabbed his canvas with red paint.

"She might not like me," Seron said as he dipped his brush into a pan of violet. "What if she's just another one after me because of my wealth or my name?"

"I think you have a short-term memory my friend. Remember that day in club when she said you were a good person? That she liked people like you?"

Of course he remembered, and he remembered how happy and fulfilled he was in that one moment. He remembered how he had danced a merry jig and sang a glorious hope-filled hymn in his head while he visibly just shook nervously. It was the happiest day in his life up to that point, and something not easily forgotten such as one's first day at school or the growing of one's first tooth.

"How can I forget?" he admonished, swiping his violet-doused brush across his canvas. "It was the happiest moment of my life."

"So I say don't be so suspicious," Larry replied. "It's obvious she likes you! Why would she have asked you out if she didn't feel that way?"

"I suppose so. But all the same, Larry, what exactly do I do? I've never been on a date before…ever."

Larry laughed. He wasn't really qualified to give advice since he had not been asked out by many girls either, but he didn't want to leave his friend high and dry. Still, Larry had a good sense of what was expected from boys and girls when they go out, so he confidently gave his answer.

"Firstly, if Meg suggests anything for the date, go along with it. She's the one who asked you out and so that means she sets the rules."

"How do you mean?" Seron inquired.

"I mean if she suggests going to the cafe, go to the cafe. If she wants to go see a movie in town, go see a movie in town."

"So…give her what she wants?"

"Indeed. Nothing is worse than facing the wrath of a woman scorned, my friend."

"How would you know?"

"Because I've gotten on Natalia's bad side for not going along with what she wanted."

Seron refrained from laughing as he saw their art professor eyeing the two of them in the back with a glare that would frighten even the most avid class clown. He went back to the work of his painting, which, as it turned out, was a portrait of Meg in the most breathtaking likeness ever put to a canvas. Even Seron was surprised at how close he was to Meg's features, able to compete against a class artist. Every contour, every dimple, every facial line was just as she was to him: perfection. Even a portrait of her was more beautiful than the finest paintings of Roxche's greatest artists. Nothing could compare in grace and splendor to her.

"That painting of yours reminds me of another tip," Larry continued. "Compliment her whenever you get a chance."

"C-compliment?" Seron repeated with a slight stutter, nervous at the prospect of expounding on what he saw as her ravishing beauty.

"Yeah. She'll know that you care about her if you compliment her often enough."

"I s-s-suppose so."

"Just relax, and take it easy, pal. You'll have fun. She wouldn't have asked you out if she didn't have something for you."

"That's precisely what worries me," Seron replied as he put some shading effects to his portrait. "I don't know if I am ready to come out about it yet. And it seems like this is her saying she's ready."

"Well, you don't know until it comes up, but I say if she's brave enough to say it, then so can you."

Seron said nothing, but obviously had misgivings about the whole thing, unknowing of Meg's intentions through this rendezvous. If it was truly as Larry said, then it was perhaps the moment he had been waiting for. But at any other point in time, he would have looked upon this with rejoice and great anticipation. At a time when their lives were in danger and in the midst of a daunting case, it seemed more of a burden than a blessing. His cobalt eyes looked across the room to see his beloved, his dejection, his misery, and his happiness painting with her brush in large swipes across her canvas, her sweet face and her navy eyes full of fun and fancy free. Sunshine cast a heavenly luster to her lilac hair, and for a moment, in Seron's eyes, she was not of this world.

"Seron," Larry concluded, "let me give you one last piece of advice: whenever she does work up the courage to come out to you, always remember this: when the time comes, don't hesitate. Just act."

* * *

><p>Those words stayed with him throughout the remainder of the day until he reached the fountain spouting water high into the sky like a great cannon firing at enemy planes. The granite used to build the fountain depicted many famous scenes from the academy's history if one walked around it; the academy's founding in the early days of Roxche, its shelling and seizure by the Bezelese Army during the Great War and its subsequent recapture, and the welcoming of the first Bezelese student shortly after the signing of the nonaggression treaty. It was a beautiful afternoon, with not a cloud in the sky. It was not hot enough to warrant the usual short-sleeve spring uniform, as Seron still wore his grey jacket and black slacks. He could hear the distant chirping of birds and saw a pair of larks resting on a tree, content with each other and looking as if in love for the first time.<p>

All of the world seemed to be in love along with him, but what could he tell her of it? It would put them at far too much risk to mention it now with possible criminals closing in on them. Admission of love would be a liability for him now, as much as he wanted to say the opposite. It didn't matter to him, however, as he knew that the time would eventually come for them. As Larry said many a day, the opportunity will present itself, and, whether he knew it or not, he'd recognize it. Until that day came, and until this case was solved, he was content to wait.

He sat on a bench and waited for what seemed like an eternity with only the distant chatter of students, the chirping of birds and the buzzing of bees as his comfort. Everything around him seemed to reflect the best in Megmica Straussky. The singing of birds echoed her beautiful melodic voice. The beauty of the fountain alluded to her radiance. The flowers that covered the open green fields reminded him of her eyes and her hair. She seemed to exist even in nature as he looked into the fountain and saw her face. He could even hear her voice call out to him.

"Seron…Seron…"

Something nudged him. He looked up to see Meg smiling down at him. She was still in her school uniform, but it didn't matter. To him, she was the most beautiful girl in the school, or anywhere on the continent for that matter.

"Oh, hello, Meg," Seron greeted. "Sorry, I was just thinking."

"Really? About what?"

"Many things," he equivocated. "It varies day to day and hour to hour. Recently it's just been the case, and who could have shot at Reiner to keep him quiet."

_Oh, Meg, if only you knew what truly went on in my mind!_

"I'd like to see those criminals brought to justice too," Meg concurred. "But let's forget about that today, shall we?"

"We shall."

He stood up and Meg took him by the hand, leading him to the cafe across from the courtyard. He blushed, still in a sense of shock that Meg had chosen him, _him of all people_, to go on her date with. Surely there must be others who sought her and wished to carry her favor, but in spite of other candidates she chose him. He was comforted by that prospect, meaning there was a considerable amount of hope for him and for the two of them.

"Did I keep you waiting long?" she asked sincerely.

"Not at all. I was too busy thinking to keep track of time."

"You're always thinking, aren't you?"

"I suppose," he admitted hesitantly, not knowing exactly what she meant.

"Well let's switch that brain of yours off today, okay? No thinking. Just having fun. Think you can do that?"

"I can try."

"That's the spirit!" she giggled. "Now come on; today tea and biscuits are half off at the cafe!"

They passed through the revolving doors of the recreation room and peaceful emollient sounds of nature and the courtyards proved ephemeral as they were replaced by the cacophonous racket of the cafe tables. She spotted a small wooden booth beside a windowpane where they could be relatively undisturbed and sat down with him, each on opposite sides of the table. In secret, Seron was holding back the urge to sit next to her on the same side, fearing it might appear imposing or inappropriate for such a tender, immaculate, unassuming, beatific and soft-spoken soul as Megmica Straussky. There was such a drastic dissimilarity between the two of them to any onlooker: the enigmatic and impassive school idol sitting opposite the sweet-faced ebullient and charming transfer student from across the river. Two different personalities, raised from two different environments, and holding two different worldviews. Such a match would be unfeasible anywhere else, or with anyone else. Yet what was it that drove these two opposite people together?

"Do you come here a lot?" Seron posed, desperate to get the ball rolling somehow.

"Sometimes with Lillia," she said as she looked over a menu. "Other times I come here alone, but I don't sit down and eat. It gets very lonely."

Meg obviously was distressed at such a possibility. Apart from Lillia, she did not have anyone close to her in this strange land to call her friend. Jenny and Natalia she never saw much outside of club. Being the transfer student meant that no one really understood her situation of being alone in a strange new land, where practically no one speaks her language, understands her customs, and even those intransigent souls who still held grudges against Sous-Beil long after the treaty had been signed and enemies turned into friends. She was happy she had a friend in Lillia, or even in Seron for all of his indiscernible disposition.

"P-p-perhaps I should j-join you m-more often," Seron staggered, armed with this new knowledge.

At the prospect, Meg smiled. Even if he was the most taciturn and most reserved of anyone she could call friend, he still had a heart of gold beneath the veneer of the distant school celebrity. He never flaunted his talents or showed off his knowledge. He never answered to compliments and turned away adoring fans. The quintessential reluctant star. Despite his distant posture and his aloofness, he still possessed kindness that he showed only to those he knew he could trust.

"Oh, that's so sweet of you, Seron!" she chortled, flipping her violet-tinged hair. "Have any place in mind?"

"Somewhere in the Capital," he stated manifestly. "I haven't quite worked out the details, but a day in the Capital is what I'd like."

"Sounds like fun. Next time, you call the shots. Oh, and speaking of details," Meg continued, leaning in with her eyes glancing over the menu, "What's this you say about this being your first date, huh?"

"It is the truth," he said matter-of-factly, hiding his embarrassment about the undeniable fact. "No girl has ever asked me out before."

"I find it a bit hard to believe, Seron, considering how well-known you are. I'd think girls would be lining up to get a date with you."

"I wish it were the case, sometimes, but no one seems interested in that," Seron said with a note of melancholy.

"Why's that?"

"Between you, me, and the table, no one is interested in who _I_ am. They are just interested in the 'school star.' Frankly, it's all very bothersome for me."

"Well, if that's the case," Meg said, apparently offended, "why did you agree to go on a date with me?"

Seron knew she had a point. He turned away every other girl that came to him, since they only looked to him because he was the idol of their little academic realm. But Meg was not like every other girl. She neither cared nor knew anything about his place on the social food chain, rather sought him out for who he was and not what others said of him. She valued him for what he was behind the visage of popularity and the pretext of the social alpha male.

"Well, Meg, you're different."

"How's that?"

Seron visibly broke sweat, diffident to tell her the precise answer. As much as his mind continued to scream at him to take the chance now, he knew that the circumstances were too complicated to allow for such a revelation to reach her ears.

"B-because you're my friend. Friends don't care about things like status."

Meg smiled, knowing that Seron's feelings, like everything with him, was genuine. He always looked out for her on their reporting missions whether it be exploring ruins or investigating a string of murders. Though he never spoke much of it, he valued her and her company. The way he fawned over her was evidence enough that she held some place in his heart.

"If all th-the other girls w-were like you, M-Meg, it would be different. It's just too bad that everyone is after me because they see me as the idol rather than just me."

"I'm sure you'll find someone for you, Seron. Just keep your chin up."

Seron nodded, wishing how much he could tell her the truth. How he already found someone, and she was sitting across from him. They turned to the matter of what to have from the cafe. This was Seron's first time in the cafe since he never found reason to come in often, as he and Larry visited the snack room in the boys' dormitory more often. Her opinion was of high pertinence of what to order.

"What tea is good here?"

"The Ikstovan Caravan is very good. I read that it's from an old recipe dating back to the nomadic days of Ikstova, before the establishment of the monarchy. What tea do you like, Seron?"

"I've never had anything else besides Tolcasian Breakfast."

"That's a tea I've never heard of," Meg said, puzzled by the name.

"It's fairly popular in Roxche. Its origins lie in tea that fishermen brewed over long voyages. It's known for its distinctive seawater-like taste."

"Rather odd for a tea if you ask me. We don't have anything like that in Sous-Beil."

"What do you have there?"

"Usually black tea with jam is what is common for us back home. It's from how soldiers always drank their tea during the wars."

"How's that?"

"All the soldiers had to have their tea with jam because there was no time to put jam on their toast!"

Meg laughed while Seron could only watch her as she threw her head back, sent her violet locks into a fine dance, and the sun shone on her pearly teeth with the light of angels. In his mind and in his heart, he was laughing with her, wishing how he could tell her the truth behind the matter that brought them to the table in this little cafe in this academy. A waitress came by to take their order, wearing a black dress with a white apron and headdress, pen and notepad ready.

"What can I get for you two today?" she chirped.

"Ikstovan Caravan for me," Seron said plainly. "I'm in the mood for something new."

"And you, miss?"

"Just Bezelese tea and jam for me, thank you," Meg answered, neatly folding up the menus.

"Can I get anything else for you? Maybe biscuits or sandwiches?"

"Nothing else for me," Seron replied. "I'm not that hungry."

"And nothing else for me either," Meg responded with a smile. "That will be all, thank you."

"All right," the waitress responded as she took the menus. "Tea should be ready in a few minutes."

With that the waitress walked away and they were left alone again. Meg looked out the window into the spring scenery and sighed longingly.

"It is a beautiful day out," she said smiling. "Perhaps I should have changed into something more appropriate."

"School uniforms work just as well. Though you do look very good in that beige one-piece dress you wore last year."

"You're embarrassing me!" she stated, blushing slightly. "I was thinking of going out and doing some shopping for some spring or summer dresses before too long."

"There's always spring break, that is if the business with the ships is resolved soon."

"Well there are a couple of local tailors around here, I think, so it shouldn't be all that bad."

"I don't know many tailors in the capital, since I don't go into town much."

"Well, I do. But that's just because it's a girl's intuition when it comes to shopping," she giggled, blushing still. "What do you think we talk about usually on our free time?"

"I d-don't have m-much of an idea," Seron responded, trying hard to suppress his nervous stammer. "I g-guess that's why I t-t-turn away most girls who c-come to m-me."

"I see," she said in an inquisitive tone. "So if I had to ask, Seron, what qualities do you look for in a girl?"

Seron started shaking again as sweat developed on his brow and he suddenly felt hot in his uniform. He tried to loosen his tie but the sweaty and uncomfortable feeling persisted from Meg's question. How on earth could he skate through this without giving everything away and putting her at risk? He cleared his throat and tried hard to come up with a definitive and yet equivocal answer to Meg's query.

"Well, come on now. Tell me what you like in a girl."

"T-to start with," he eked out, "I'd l-like a girl who appreciates m-me _for_ me. You d-don't know how t-tiring it gets to constantly get confessed to b-by someone who j-just wants to be with the s-school star."

Meg had already heard this from him. As much as she liked that he searched for a girl who could genuinely care for him, she desperately wanted to know what exactly he sought for in matters of the heart. Again, she pressed her query to him.

"I guess I could imagine that. But is there anything else you'd like to see or have in a girl?"

Seron searched around for anything to answer this question painlessly without letting the cat out of the bag. His entire face grew flushed as he spied something on Meg's personage that helped him wade through the quagmire that she brought up.

"I l-like a girl who wears pigtails."

"Ehhhh?" She said shocked since she was wearing what he just described. "Really?"

"I-I'm sorry!" Seron stammered, lost with how to remedy the situation he had just landed himself in. "I d-d-didn't mean to offend you! P-please forget I said anything!"

He couldn't risk it now, not when their lives were potentially on the line. It had to wait until the heat was off them! It had to wait! Please, not yet! Not yet!

"No! No…it's…alright," she hesitated, blushing more than what she most likely thought possible. "If that's what you like, well…I'm alright with it."

"R-really?"

"Yeah, really," she said quietly. "I mean…I can't tell you what you can and can't like, right?"

"I suppose not. Anyway, I also l-like a g-girl who has…courage."

"Courage huh? Why is that Seron?"

"I…value a woman who can…t-take action and not j-just sit on the fence."

"I see. Perhaps that's why we're always out on our little adventures, right?"

"I view it more as Jenny always biting off a little more th-than she can chew, but that's just my view."

"That's probably true."

At that moment, the waitress came by with a plate carrying two cups of piping hot tea, the aroma close to intoxicating. Seron privately thanked whatever deity existed that a small respite was granted to him to strategize a quick and easy way out of this extremely muddled and difficult conversation.

"Here we are," the waitress said cheerfully. "Bezelese tea with jam for the lady, and Ikstovan Caravan for the gent."

"Thank you," Meg said politely.

"Thank you," Seron said morosely.

"Is there anything else I can get you?" the waitress asked.

"That'll be all, thanks," Seron shot back. "Just the check, please."

"Certainly. Enjoy you two."

Seron sipped his tea and immediately fell in love with the soothing and enticing scent and taste. It harkened an image of the pre-monarchy days of Ikstova, when the people were merely nomadic tribes that had gathered around the lake and at the base of the mountains. He pictured the vagabonds huddled around campfires, singing folksongs in a language he couldn't begin to understand. As he conjured up the image he found a way to shift the conversation and maybe gain some insight to gain her favor in the future.

"Since we're on the subject of girls, I suppose it stands to reason I ask you the same about boys," Seron said tersely as he sipped his tea.

"Wh-what?" she said, nearly spitting her tea out.

"W-we don't have to talk about it…" Seron retracted, "if you're not comfortable with it."

"It's fine! Really it is!" she said, waving her hands nervously. "What would you like to know?"

"I guess…w-what do you look for in a boy?"

"Well…err…" she stammered, now nervously twiddling her thumbs, "Well, he has to be caring…sweet…have an eye for only me…"

"J-jealous type?"

"N-no! Nothing like that! Honestly!"

"All right. Go on…"

"Well…I also want a guy to like me for who I am…not for what he wants me to be. He also has to be honest, sincere, and most of all, willing to show how much he actually cares for me."

"I don't suppose…anyone fits that description for you at this moment in time?"

"Well there is one guy…" she admitted blushing. "But I can't quite say who he is yet."

Seron's spirits sank. If she had her eyes on another, then every moment of time he invested into her, from joining the newspaper club, tagging along on all their adventures, to buying the ship and pursuing criminals that stole it.

"Oh," he said, hinting at his dejection. "W-why is that?"

"That's because that someone special is also someone who is very close and dear to me."

"Is he anyone I'd know?"

"That I'm not going to say because I don't want to give myself away," she said now giggling innocently. "You have to remember, a girl doesn't reveal her secrets."

"I suppose that's fair," he said as he finished his tea. "Where on earth is that waitress?"

It was at that moment when the waitress came running to the table carrying a bill in her hand.

"I'm so sorry that took so long. Here's the bill. Hope you enjoyed the tea!"

"We did, thank you," Meg said smiling.

"Indeed," Seron concurred as he fished out his wallet. "I didn't think that Ikstovan Caravan tasted that good."

"Only the best, straight from Ikstova, sir! None of that store-bought stuff here."

"Sure tasted like it. Here's 20 rubles. Keep the change."

"Thank you very much, sir. Have a wonderful day."

As the waitress left, Meg looked across from him with great anticipation in her indigo eyes.

"Well, what shall we do next?" Meg asked.

"You're the one who asked me out," Seron retorted matter-of-factly, "so I thought you had a plan."

"Oh, that's right!" she chuckled. "How silly of me."

"So you _do_ have something you'd like to do?"

"I was thinking we could have a nice dinner if it is all the same to you."

"I-I'd love that," Seron said, his spirits picking up slightly. "Of course, it's a little early for dinner yet."

"Well how about a nice walk in the park until then?"

"Suits me fine."

Seron got up and in a moment of bravery unlike any either he nor Meg had known, offered his hand to her.

"Shall we?"

"We shall my good sir," she responded placing her hand in his. "I trust you will show me a good time, am I correct?"

"I can certainly try, Miss Straussky," Seron said, eking out a smile.

And with that, they carried themselves out the door like a couple on the way to the royal ball. Somehow, despite Meg admitting she had feelings for someone else, Seron felt happy, and whole for the first time in his life. For as long as he had lived he felt unsatisfied by everything that surrounded him and filled his days. His friends, his studies, his high-class home, none of it ever gave him a sense of completeness, a sense of closing a gap in his heart that had existed for as long as he could remember. Who knows? If this date went over smoothly enough, maybe he still had a chance to win her over from this unknown who had captured her heart.

* * *

><p>They traveled into the campus park with the wide pastures and small orchards being illuminated by the sinking afternoon sun. Meg would point out various sights and sounds as they strolled through the large park, hoping to elicit some response from Seron, but Seron could only think of how beautiful Meg was compared to the scenery he had been witness to again and again for more than two years. A tree could not comprehend Seron's feelings. A flower could not touch his heart. Meg could speak to him, could reach him, and could take his hand and comfort him. But Meg enjoyed the scenery that to him was bland and uninspiring, and so Seron was more than willing, even enthusiastic, to follow Meg in her pursuits of the natural and pastoral, sharing in her captivation of such mundane sightings of a flower or an insect. In particular, a black and blue butterfly caught their attention as it flew past.<p>

"Seron, look! Have you ever seen anything like that before?"

"It looks like a rare species of _Lepidoptera._"

Meg looked to him as if he was speaking an alien language.

"A what?"

"A butterfly," he clarified, "if you prefer."

"Well, let's chase it, Seron!"

Meg grabbed him by the hand and he followed her through the fields after the small insect fluttering through the air. Meg laughed as she tried to reach for the butterfly, and in an instant he was transported to another dimension, a world where he didn't have to worry about things like criminals and scrolls and secret treasures. It was a world where she could understand him and he her, a world where he was not judged by rank or wealth or fame. She was his harbinger of Paradise, his leader to a land of salvation.

She chased after the delicate butterfly as it flew up to a high branch of a tall oak standing in a wide open field. Seron's head shot up and he saw it perched on the end of the branch, gently opening and closing its wings in oblivious repose. Meg turned to Seron with entreating and prayerful navy eyes, petitioning Seron for help in her quest of innocent indulgence in the sight of nature.

"Seron, I want to get it but it's too high for me. Could I stand on your shoulders so I can reach it?"

He could not turn down a request from her. Meg planted one of her shoes into the palms of Seron's cupped hands and he boosted her up. They struggled for a moment to get her in the right place on his shoulders to allow her to be still and for him to be comfortable. Eventually, Meg was stretching for the delicate black and blue butterfly while Seron patiently waited for Meg to catch her insect prize, holding as still as possible to allow her to maintain balance. In a moment of curiosity, he turned his gaze upward, wishing to see Meg's progress. He found this to be a mistake, however, when his face blushed a vibrant rose red.

He had a view straight up her skirt.

He quickly brought his gaze back to straight ahead of him, though there was not much to look at besides the distant stone path, the open glowing meadows and the brilliance of school buildings far off into the distance. It was not an alluring or aesthetically stimulating scene for him. Not much in this world really seemed to faze him or excite him in any way. Perhaps it was boredom with life that drove him to find value in Meg. She was unlike any girl he had ever encountered before or after. She lit up his world, filled it with excitement, and brought joy into his life for the first time in what felt like an eternity. Still, it did not take away any of his love for her.

But in that quick moment of curiosity when he turned his eyes upward, he found himself feeling more than just love for Megmica Straussky. Love had turned to something darker, more corporeal, more advanced than simply affection for another. Love had turned to desire, to want, and to covetousness. It was a thought that at any other point in his life and with any other person he would dare not think of, but with Meg it seemed natural. To add to his more base of desires and situation, Meg was completely unaware of what he had just seen and what emotions and senses were speeding through his consciousness.

In his mind a struggle between integrity and indulgence waged, with the forces of both well-matched. The battles culminated in questions of whether to look up or look straight ahead. Ultimately the forces of temptation triumphed over the forces of rectitude and he could not resist the alluring image. He looked up to gaze upon her patterned underwear.

While it may be true that Meg was well into her teens, it did nothing to stem her innocent naive nature, which was made manifest in her juvenile panties. The base color was a pale yellow like the sun at dusk, against which small flowers of various hues and shades blossomed in all manner of places on her lower extremities. Her bottom was a bed of roses and marigolds, and her crotch a plot of pansies and carnations. Closing off the large tract of flowerbeds was delicate lace trim around the leg bands like a finely crafted picket fence. Like every quality in her, Meg's panties exuded vivacity and beauty.

So lost in a trance was Seron by Meg's panties that he failed to hear her calls to him, still completely unaware of where his eyes and thoughts were.

"Seron, I've almost got it! I'm so close! I—OOH!"

Her foot slipped and she fell on top of him, catching him off-guard while still gazing on her veil of femininity, sending him hurtling to the ground with her. He landed hard on his back in the earth, writhing in the dirt with no clear idea of what had happened or why, while she landed on something soft and yet sturdy.

"I'm so sorry about that, Seron," Meg admonished, rubbing her bottom. "I was so close to catching it that I—"

She stopped midsentence and saw just what an mortifying position she was in; her legs were widely spread apart as she sat right on his face, her skirt acting as a curtain over his visage. She looked around quickly to make sure no one was around to see them and thanked her lucky stars that there was not a living soul to be found for kilometers. His low groans and squirming in the earth made her jump to her feet, her hands tugging hard at her skirt. Her face was red as a beet and her eyes wide and quivering, as if she was about to cry.

"D-d-did you…did you see them?" she asked, deathly afraid.

Seron's cobalt eyes glazed open to see Meg, obviously mortified by what had just transpired and close to breaking emotionally. He wiped away a small dribble of red from his nose before she caught it, and slowly, hesitantly, gave his answer to her allegation.

"N-no. I didn't," he dissembled. "Y-you fell on me b-before I could look up."

"Honest? Cross your heart and hope to die?"

"I would n-never lie to you, Meg. D-don't you trust me?"

Meg averted her eyes, her face as red as could be from embarrassment. Despite her mind and her woman's intuition saying otherwise, she did trust him with her life. He always stood up for her and always had her back in their adventures. He always looked out for her. He was the most doting friend she had besides Lillia. Even if she attempted to delude herself to think he was like the others, she knew he wasn't. He was her friend above all else.

"O-of course I trust you, Seron."

"Then believe me. I saw nothing."

"I do believe you."

Meg helped him up and they both staggered away from the tree, agreeing to swear off butterfly chasing for future times, lest another embarrassing moment like that result. They strolled further through the park until they came out the other side, near the school dining hall. She beamed, her countenance brightening the scene even in the fading evening light as she took him by the hand led the way, like an explorer charting new lands.

* * *

><p>"Say, Seron," Meg chirped, leading him towards the refectory, "are you still up for a dinner?"<p>

"Certainly," he said solemnly, "that is, if you still are."

"Of course."

As she opened the door, the sounds of cacophonous chatter again greeted their ears, and the sight of rows upon rows of tables taken up by students now having their dinner. It was evident that they couldn't have an intimate dinner like they wanted to inside the refectory.

"Oh my," Meg said, wide-eyed at teeming amount of students. "There's no place to sit…"

"…Maybe we should just get our food and get out…" Seron suggested half-heartedly.

At that prospect, Meg's eyes shimmered like the Lutoni river on a moonlit night.

"That's a great idea, Seron! We'll have our dinner outside, under the stars! I didn't think you could be such a romantic, Seron…"

"…neither did I…"

In all honesty, it was not what he had intended, but if it made Meg happy, he was enthusiastic to go along with it. They stood in line, and waited for what seemed like hours to get their food. As it turned out, the refectory was filled to capacity due to the special Foreign Food night, celebrating cuisine from North and South, East and West. It was no surprise that there were no seats left for the two of them with that known. While moving at a snail's pace, Seron had time to think about what more he could ask of her, and what more could keep the date going for at least couple more hours.

As he placed his order and she hers, he came to realize that he never got a good chance to speak to her about her personal life. Other than knowing that she came from across the river, he knew little to nothing about her. It was the perfect chance to knowing her better and, furthermore, cementing their relationship. He paid for the two of them and with his mind made up, led her out of the burgeoning refectory in search of a quiet place of shared contemplation.

"I know a place," she whispered.

Under the dark of the night, they escaped the eyes of would-be suitors and fawning admirers to seek respite in the shadows of the dormitories, illuminated by the rising full moon. They found a bench on which to sit under the shade of an cypress.

"What did you get, Seron?" she asked as she opened her takeaway box.

"It's an Ikstovan food…" Seron replied as he opened the small cask which housed his meal. "…it's called _pelmeny_, I think."

"Oh, I've heard of that! Meat dumplings, right?"

"Yes, that's what it is."

"It's supposed to be an old staple of the Ikstovan diet, isn't it?"

"Yes but you can get it anywhere in Roxche nowadays. Ikstovan hunters used to have this whenever they went out on long hunting voyages. They favored it because it was light and easy to carry and yet filling at the same time. There is an old saying that there is no such thing as too much Pelmeny. Now if you ever go into Ikstova, you can get it store-bought, though I think it takes away the rusticity of it."

"What do you mean?"

"Just the fact that it's become commercialized has made it lose the cultural identity. It's no longer just an Ikstovan food, if that makes sense."

Silence took hold of them as Meg took a bite from her dinner, which looked to be vegetables. Seron gulped down a dumpling and feared that the atmosphere had soured.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to spoil the mood like that. I tend to go off on tangents whenever something I've learned about is brought up."

"It's okay," Meg said smiling. "It's fascinating to hear it. I'd never would have known otherwise."

"I suppose. What did you get?"

"Oh, just a little traditional meal from back home. It's called _spagel_. White asparagus with hollandaise sauce and baked potatoes."

"It sounds good. Is it popular back in Sous-Beil?"

"It's only one of our favorites!" Meg quipped, obviously enthused. "Sometimes, when it is in season, entire restaurants devote their menus to _spagel_!"

"Must be a very exciting time…"

Again, silence grasped at them, as if putting a muzzle to keep them from a closer friendship than what they had previously. But Seron forcibly removed his muzzle and spoke again.

"Tell me more about your home, Meg. What kind of home do you live in?"

Meg was understandably surprised, never taking Seron to be the kind to socialize and ask questions on personal matters, but she could see the boy was really trying hard to make the date enjoyable. She felt pity for him, having always been hounded by girls who were after him for his name or for his wealth rather than for who he was as a person. She was not on the same level as he when it came to social strata, but she could easily recognize how frustrating it was to be pursued by someone because of looks or fame or prowess. She smiled and after swallowing a small bite of baked potato, opened up like a book.

"I live with my parents in the old family manor. My father inherited it when Grandfather died. We're just outside of a town near the buffer zone called Mifflinburg. It's a very quiet place, but not totally isolated."

"What's Mifflinburg like?"

"Oh, it's such a wondrous place!" Meg answered, starry-eyed with nostalgia and affection for her hometown. "It's a very small community, just over 2,000 people. All the townspeople are so friendly and have smiles on their faces. They're all very welcoming. There are cute little mom-and-pop stores everywhere, all the food comes from the local farms, and all the houses look like dollhouses!"

She giggled at that thought before continuing.

"In the center of town there's a tall obelisk built as a memorial for the citizens who died in the war."

"Oh?"

"Yes. It was built just after the signing of the armistice before the mural was found. Every year on Armistice Day the townspeople gather to honor the dead."

"What do you do on that day?"

"I go and light a candle for my grandfather. You can find his name among the list of people who died. It's always a very moving occasion."

"I bet it is."

Meg took another bite of asparagus before turning the question to him.

"What's your home like, Seron?"

Seron stopped in the midst of swallowing a dumpling, he was so surprised by the inquiry. He could never recall anyone in his life outside of Larry or even Nicholas who ever took an interest in his personal life. No one ever asked him what his home life was like or even what it consisted of. No girl ever exhibited interest in his family; only him and what he had to his name. Meg was truly one of a kind, who didn't care about things like status. It only cemented his affirmation that she was the one for him.

"Why do you ask, Meg?"

"Well, you never talk about yourself."

"…well, you're the first girl I've met to actually show interest…"

"C'mon Seron!" Meg giggled, nudging him and allowing him to fully swallow his food. "I'm curious! What's your home life like?"

"It's fairly average," he said, obviously not as captivated by home life as Meg was. "I live on an estate with my parents and my little sister. My mother operates a frozen food company, which provides for much of my family's wealth."

"What's your estate like?"

"In a word, remote. It's far removed from the Capital, or any city for that matter; it's main reason why I board at the school. But the estate is very large. Sometimes I wonder if it's large enough to encompass a whole village unto itself."

"Wow," Meg said, clearly in awe. "Do you have a lot of workers on your estate?"

"Not very many. My family and I maintain the place most of the time. We have a gardener, but I rarely see him."

"What's your family like?"

"My younger sister Liina can be a pain sometimes, but she is very sweet. Mother can be a bit overprotective, but she is a kind and loving person. Father mostly keeps to himself and is very quiet."

"I can see who you take after, then," Meg giggled. "But they all sound like wonderful people, Seron. I'd love to meet them if I could get the chance."

"You're welcome to visit my home any time you wish, Meg. My family is a very accepting one."

"And you are welcome in my home, Seron."

They talked on into the night, exchanging knowledge of customs and family traditions. While this was the first time that Meg had ever been out of her country, Seron had never traveled across the river, or anywhere outside of the Capital for that matter. Because his home was so far removed and distant, it was a difficulty to go anywhere, least of all to Sous-Beil. Meg was slowly growing accustomed to life on this side of the river and had grown to enjoy her school, her classmates and her newfound friends in Lillia, Seron, Natalia, and Jenny. They had gotten into many adventures, but it was always with excitement and enjoyment that they emerged, and, they reasoned, so too would be the result of this adventure.

Then the clock tower struck eight, meaning that it was close to curfew hours for students. They had to return to their respective dormitories, lest they be caught by monitors that roamed the school grounds. Since the boys' and girls' residence halls were some distance from each other, the striking of the clock meant an end for their date and heralding the time for them to go their separate ways. But Meg one last matter she felt was unattended to.

"Aren't you forgetting something, Seron?"

Seron looked around to see what she meant, thinking it was something tangible that he physically forgot. Perhaps it was his wallet? He checked his pockets, but he found everything he needed on his person. His wallet, his pens, his pocket watch, everything was there. What, then, could Meg mean by saying he was forgetting something.

"W-what is it?"

Meg giggled at his obliviousness when it came to the matters of courtship.

"Well, usually, at the end of a date, the boy gives the girl a goodnight kiss…"

At that prospect, Seron's face turned a bright red and he started to shake. It was bad enough that he had caught a glimpse of her flowery underwear on this, _their first date together_, but now he had to give her a kiss as well? This was not to suggest the thought did not appeal to him; far to the contrary, he often dreamed of how kissing her would feel, taste, smell. Still, he was a tyro when it came to such matters; he had only ever gotten kisses from his mother or his sister, and no girl ever dared tried to kiss him in school. The thought of it was too surreal, too incomprehensible for him to even lean over and give a peck on her cheek. This would be the first time he would ever touch lips with a girl, especially her.

"A k-k-k-kiss?" he stammered, trying and failing to secrete his anxiety.

"What's the matter? You don't want to or something?"

"N-n-n-no! Th-that's n-n-not it at all!" he said waving his hands in protest at her allegations.

"Well what is it, then?" she asked, still oblivious as to what was impeding him from finishing the night.

"I-I-I j-just…n-never kissed a g-girl before," Seron admitted, obviously ashamed.

Meg raised an eyebrow and smirked, obviously intrigued.

"Oh you haven't? Then this should be interesting…"

Seron felt her warm touch on his upper arms as she stepped closer to him, so close that he could smell the faint scent of perfume. It was exhilarating, intoxicating and frightening. As if on the verge of death, his life flashed before his eyes as her face inched closer and closer to his, navy eyes entreating him, begging him to share in a small celebration of their first date. He simultaneous thanked God that he was finally sharing something with her, even if it was not his admission of love, and cursed him for bringing this revelation upon him so soon. Why now? Why not when the business of ships and treasure was over, and criminals caught and mysteries solved?

"M-Meg?" he said, feeling as if he was a cannon ready to fire, in contrast to the dispassionate appearance of his face and in his cobalt eyes.

"Yes, Seron?"

"I'm…I'm…s-scared."

"Don't be."

He felt her warm hands press to his cheeks and without any answering of why or how, their lips touched. In an instant, time stopped for him and her and for the first time in what felt like an perpetuity, he was complete. Everything was clear to him, and he needed not ask any more questions about the nature of the world, or of the heart and soul. The fragrance of her perfume, the softness of her skin, and the power of her touch melted away any fears or anxieties he previously had. What did it matter if criminals were after them? What if Reiner was wounded and in the hospital? Of what importance was the treasure somewhere hidden on the continent? All questions and obligations floated away as if carried on clouds, leaving only the soothing feeling of Meg's sweet full lips on Seron's.

Then, after what felt like ages, Meg broke away, leaving a smile on her lips and a dazzled gaze in her navy eyes.

"It was a wonderful outing, Seron. Thanks for spending the day with me."

"Thanks for inviting me…" Seron replied, still braving his pokerfaced countenance, despite doing mental acrobatics in celebration.

"Well, goodnight."

Meg turned to go, but Seron realized that he couldn't bear her leaving him. He had to see her again, if only to have some guarantee that there was hope for the two of them! He had to know if she could face him again in the morning, and the morning after, and the morning after! He had to know if there was still room in her heart for him. So without an ounce of hesitation, he grabbed her by the wrist and halted her steady strut.

"Meg…"

"Is something the matter, Seron?" Meg asked, turning over her shoulder with the sweetest and most enticing look in her eyes and her face that Seron ever bore witness to.

_Why am I not saying I love you?_

"Meg…could I…see you again tomorrow?"

Meg giggled. She loved his delightful obtuseness and out of depth graces. Despite being the school star, he was as retiring and as timid as he always was, like a puppy dog in search for a master. It was so dissonant, his place on the social food chain compared to his personal traits. Yet despite these inconsistencies, being with him was the most rewarding and divine feeling in her young life. What could she say to the boy that was so reticent and humble, yet so helpful and kind?

"Of course, Seron. I'd love that. How does the same time by the fountain sound?"

"It's a d-d-date."

"Great," she giggled. "See you then."

They parted ways to their respective residence halls. And just when he was sure that no one was around to see him for miles and there were no monitors to stop him and interrogate him, he cracked the widest smile he ever wore on his face in his entire life.

* * *

><p>AN: I'm sorry this took so long to churn out! But the business of college finals, studying for GRE and celebrating Christmas and New Year's put a huge dent in my plans to get this out before the break started. However, it's up and that's what important. After the bit of harrowing danger in the last couple chapters, I think our heroes deserve a little respite and what better way than to go on their first date? I hope you all liked it, and enjoy the rest while it lasts, because come next chapter, the plot will kick into overdrive!

Read and review as always, peeps!

Jordan


	6. Chapter 6: Kidnapped!

A/N: F.I.N.A.L.L.Y! I realize how incredibly late this chapter is, but the simple fact is college was a major pain in the ass and I got next to no time to complete the chapter until this past month, with graduation and all. Btw, I HAVE OFFICIALLY GRADUATED COLLEGE! (party horns and confetti). Now that school is officially over, I'm currently on the road with folks (now in Yellowstone National Park!), but I still have my computer, so you can bet that I will be posting more regularly now. Again, please excuse my lateness and enjoy the newest chapter!

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Six: Kidnapped!<strong>

Some days had passed since the shooting, with still no news from either the hospital or from the automotive registry. Jenny had offered some hope as far as finding the registry plate went, as she said her parents' company held the largest number of consumers, and thus it would take some time to search for one particular plate. It didn't matter however, as they all knew that it was only a matter of time before the culprits were found. In the meantime, Meg and Seron had been spending more time together after the success of their first date. Even if he never spoke a word of the heart, there was a feeling of stronger ties between them as they toured around the campus, as Meg dreamed of home, and as Seron bantered on about the world and his disenchantment with it.

Even with Seron's caustic wit and his light cynicisms about life in general, Meg felt pleasure in his company. His resigned and skeptical personage provided an effective complement to her lighthearted and optimistic nature as she took him everywhere and he the same. They traveled through the Capital, taking note to keep a low profile, in case they attract the attention of the ne'er do well culprits who almost gunned them down. She hadn't yet found an opportunity to buy a new dress from one of the tailors, but it mattered little, since spring vacation was almost upon them, and there would be plenty of time to take care of acquiring the latest in fashion. If they got the last scrolls and found the location of the treasure, it would mean a treasure-hunting expedition during the vacation, meaning the proper clothes were of a necessity.

On a Saturday afternoon, Seron had set up another date for the two of them, with plans to go to the theater in the Capital. There was a new Marty Mouse short airing and neither of them wanted to miss it, not to mention there was a special sale on swimsuits at the local sports store, and Meg wanted to partake. In the aftermath of their first date which included a full unobstructed VIEW of her floral underwear, Seron was hesitant for something like swimsuit-fitting. But if it was swimsuits Meg wanted, then swimsuits she would have.

He had just finished dressing up for a day out on the town, looking professional and snappy. The weather was on the warmer side, so his clothes were slack and lighter; a loose-fitting white button-down shirt, grey knickerbockers and white socks encased in brown oxford shoes. In the meantime, his friend Larry could only remark on just how far their relationship had come.

"Y'know, I never would have thought you'd get asked out by her," he said with amazement. "And now you two keep going out almost every day after classes! You should be very proud, pal!"

"I'm more nervous than anything," Seron lamented as he tightened his black belt across his waist. "I fear it's better to stick to campus than venture out into the Capital."

"You've been out before, haven't you? Nothing bad has come of it yet."

"Still, I'd rather not leave the safety of the school grounds."

Seron sighed as he tucked in his shirt into his knickerbockers.

"But, like you say, Larry, I have to give Meg what she wants. If she wants to go into the city, then we go into the city."

"That's the spirit, pal!" Larry cheered, slapping him on the back. "Keep pleasin' her and she might even come out."

Seron shivered at the very thought of it. As he always believed, there was a time and a place for everything, and now was not the time for a heartfelt confession. It had to wait until the heat was off of them, when things were normalized, or at least until they were out of danger.

"That's a day I prefer to have postponed. Besides which, I have bigger worries."

"Like?"

"I don't want an incident like what happened on my first date happening again…" he said, with a slight flush across his cheeks, not wanting to say out loud what he meant.

Larry laughed, knowing what he was referring to, and slung his arm over his friend's shoulder, giving him a quiet piece of advice.

"She doesn't know anything, so I'd say keep it that way."

"What if she asks something like sharing secrets?"

"Then keep that secret to yourself until you two are official."

Seron raised an eyebrow in suspicion of what he meant.

"Do you mean when we've…come out?"

"I mean the next step up from that," Larry said slyly.

"…engagement?" Seron guessed, not sure what he meant.

"Higher."

"Marriage!"

Larry doubled over in laughter as Seron backed away, obviously averse to the idea at this point in time. Not to say he didn't think of it from time to time, but he was far more concerned with simply coming out to her, since that was a necessity for all the others to follow. Larry wiped away a tear as he escorted Seron out of the dormitory and down the hallway.

"Just have fun and don't get into too much trouble, pal. She doesn't have to know any of what happened just yet."

"I suppose. I'll check in with you occasionally during the date for any updates on Reiner or the automotive registry."

"Haven't heard anything yet, pal, but I'll keep you posted."

At that, there was a knock on the door of the boys' residence hall. Seron reasoned it was Meg, but Larry noted the earliness of the time relative to when their date was planned. Both sensed something amiss and went down the stairs to see who was at the door. Perhaps it was one of the club members with news about Reiner, or Jenny with the results from the automobile registry. Either way, both knew it certainly was not Meg, as Seron opened the door first and saw two unfamiliar figures carrying a large wooden box.

The one on the left was a man in his late twenties with tousled brown hair hidden under a flat cap wearing a light red sweatshirt and black slacks, while the one on the right wore a beige jacket and slacks, covering his red hair with a brown fedora. The man in the fedora spoke first.

"Which one of you is Seron Maxwell?"

"I am," Seron said, stepping forward.

"We have a package for you."

"But I didn't order anything…"

The man in the flat cap showed him a clipboard with some documents attached.

"But this is your name on the order form…"

In that moment, all else became a blur to Seron as he felt something cover his nose and everything went black. The last thing he saw was Larry getting knocked on the head by a blackjack, carried by the man in the fedora. So much for his date with Meg.

Two hours later, Seron awoke in what appeared to be a cellar with stone walls and pillars everywhere supporting the ceiling. The cellar seemed to be old judging from the dust and sediment that would occasionally spill through the cracks. It was obvious to him that this was not his residence hall and he had been kidnapped. The most important thing to do right now is figure out where he was and try to get help.

Seron pushed the blankets off him (at least the kidnappers gave me some comfort, he thought), and looked around the cellar. It was completely empty, with only a large wooden beam in the corner, and a red door off to his left, supposedly the entrance. It looked to be the only way in or out of the room, and he was sure that it was locked, that is if these kidnappers were smart enough.

"Looks like I'm in a prison…"

"_Yes, and you're the prisoner!"_

At the sound of that booming voice, Seron jumped behind a stone pillar, scared that someone, presumably his kidnapper, was in the cellar with him. He looked around but saw no one, but he knew he wasn't dreaming.

"No one here…but someone spoke…"

"_Yes, someone spoke!"_

"Who…who are you?" Seron hesitantly asked, showing signs of weakness that he would never show to anyone. "And _where_ are you?"

"_Who am I? The ghost of the captain of the _Firefly_!"_

Seron shivered in his shoes at the thought of a spirit, even though he was not one to believe in such things. Just the sound of the voice's taunting laughter filled him with terror, only for it to redact its claim of otherworldliness.

"_Scared you, didn't I? Now come over to the door; I have something to tell you."_

Seron, knowing that he didn't have any other options at this point, slowly and cautiously crept to the door, his only possible means of escape unless the kidnappers were smart enough to lock it. The voice beckoned him closer and closer and seemed to grow louder and louder with each step he took.

"_Come closer…closer…Good. See the speaking tube?"_

Sure enough, he did see a small black tube in the wall, forming something of an intercom. He leaned over and gently spoke into it.

"Who are you? What do you want with me?"

"_Who am I? You must allow me to remain anonymous for the time being. As for what I want, I am sure you would have guessed that by now. I want to know where you're hiding the last scroll to the _Firefly's _treasure."_

Of course. He knew that was the reason from the very start. He always feared that the criminals would come after him or Meg, and it finally happened. Well, he wasn't going to give it up without a struggle; that treasure was rightfully Meg's, and no manner of threats or intimidation would allow him to be convinced of otherwise. He made that much clear as he spoke through the tube.

"You're not getting it," he said finitely.

"_Oh, come now, let's be sensible! I already have two of the three parchments, which means I have most of the coordinates for the treasure's location. All I need is yours and I can plan an expedition to find it. If you give it to me I'll make it worth your while…"_

"I don't want your money," Seron said firmly. "I want those scrolls. That treasure belongs to Meg, not you."

"_Oh, you mean Sir Maximilian's granddaughter?"_

At that response, Seron shivered, fearing the worst. He never said anything about Meg other than her name; how could this person know who she was already? Surely they couldn't have found her and captured her too? If that was the case there was a whole other world of trouble in store for him and her. A single bead of sweat dripped down his forehead and rested on his nose, as he knew that something was amiss with this anonymous prison warden. Hesitantly, he asked through the speaking tube,

"How do you know that?"

"_She's here, with us. Would you like to speak with her?"_

Rustling sounds filled the tube and it sounded like a chair was being dragged across the floor of whatever room the other end of this speaking tube was in. As he feared, he heard the anxious and frightened voice of his beloved, his method to this madness, his reason for everything he had done in this caper.

"_Seron!"_

"Meg!" he responded, trying his best to keep her and himself calm. "Are you okay? Did they hurt you?"

"_I'm so scared right now, Seron! They have me tied up in this chair and blindfolded! I don't know what they're going to do to me! You have to help me! Get me out of here!"_

"Meg, just be calm, all right? I'll get us out of this…"

Before he could finish, he heard the sound of Meg's chair being dragged away, and the deep voice of his captor reigned again through the tube, his tone foreboding and threatening.

"_So those are the stakes. Tell us where the scroll is, and you and your girlfriend can go free."_

At the word "girlfriend" Seron's cheeks became flushed, but he was not about to let his sentiments for Megmica Straussky allow him to cost her and potentially her family everything they had achieved up until now.

"It's not yours. That treasure is hers and her family's by rights."

"_Suit yourself. I'll give you two hours to think it over. If you don't give us the location of the last scroll, then you and your little girlfriend will see what kind of man I am."_

The intercom was cut off, and silence filled the room. Seron paced away slowly, wondering to himself how on earth he could get himself and Meg out of this predicament. There was no way he was giving up the last scroll; nothing would change his mind on that. However there didn't seem to be any exit out of the cellar besides the door, which for sure was locked. He paced up and down the length of the cellar, wracking his brain for some means of escape. It was clear that whoever captured the two of them were the perpetrators of the shooting and responsible for the wounding of Reiner, but it would mean little without putting faces to the deed. Then he noticed a large wooden beam in the corner of the room, about 10 feet long. A light bulb began to flicker in his head as he searched around the room for any clues that might aid him in formulating a plan.

A ring on the ceiling, the kind that would support a chandelier.

His blankets.

A length of old string.

A medium-sized stone.

The light bulb went off in his head, and a cunning ingenious plan was hatched by this isolated and sharp-witted mind.

He turned to the speaking tube, and remembered the handkerchief in his pocket. He was not going to overlook anything if this plan of his was to work. He walked over to the tube and stuffed the handkerchief into it, so whoever was on the other end of it would not hear him; secrecy had to be maintained if this was to work. With the matter of muffling the tube done he went to the business of tying up the blankets to form a rope of sorts. It was arduous, as the blankets were, of course, not meant to be treated as rope and thus were harder to tie. The task was completed however, and Seron soon tied the blanket-rope around the wooden beam and pulled it across the cellar floor, straining every muscle in his body to bring it under the ceiling ring, which was in the center of the room.

Now Seron tied the long bit of string to the end of the blanket-rope, and tied the stone to the string. Now all he needed was a lucky throw as he aimed the stone at the ring hanging from the ceiling.

"I hope I can make it…"

He tossed the stone towards the ring, but it bounced off the edge and came back down to the floor. Undeterred, he picked up the stone and tried again, and again, and again. Always he either overshot it, or just barely missed. He knew he was against the clock, with two hours to get himself and Meg out of this, so he never gave up tossing the stone at the ceiling ring. She was depending on him. Larry, Nicholas, Natalia, and Jenny were all wondering where they were now; of that he was certain. Another thing was certain: this would be the end of the mystery.

On what must have been the twentieth try, he got the stone through the ring, and it fell to the floor carrying the string with it. Seron quietly rejoiced as he pulled the blankets through the ring and down the other side, straining his muscles as he tried to lift the heavy wooden beam upward. He got it up to about eye level, at which point he tied the other end of the blanket rope around the beam, and he smiled in triumph of his accomplishment.

"And that's a fine battering ram made."

He walked over to one end of the impromptu battering ram, and pulled it back, ushering all of his strength to aid him in this, what had to be the most important moment in his young life and the watershed moment in his relationship with Meg. He heaved forward with one strong push, bashing into the stone wall on the other side. The collision shook the entire room, and Seron thought for sure he had started an earthquake, but the hard vibration subsided. He looked over and saw he had not even made a dimple in the wall; only shook some dirt loose.

Undeterred, he pulled back and pushed forward with even more force, desperate to escape from this prison and search for Meg. He heard a stone shift along another, and saw that he had made a dent, and he had to keep up his ramming. Again and again he slammed the beam into the wall, unmindful of the tremendous strain on his lean muscles; there were far greater things at stake than to worry about sore arms.

He heard footsteps from up above, and reasoned that the owners of the house (and their kidnappers) had heard the sounds, coming down to stop him. His pushes increased in frequency, as he quietly prayed that the wall would break and offer him a venue of escape.

With a loud crash, his prayers were answered, and the walls broke.

He rushed over to the newly made hole and was greeted by the sound of a music box which had fallen over with the last push. Seron looked to see that he had stumbled upon a cellar filled with all manner of antiques. Everything from suits of armor and ancient weapons to toys of a previous century and portraits of antiquity cluttered the room and obscured the walls up to the ceiling. It came as no surprise that these ne'er-do-wells were in the antique business too, and undoubtedly came across a model of that warship around which an entire war was now raging between them.

"There he is!" shouted a voice from somewhere behind him.

He turned to see that the red door next to the speaking tube he had muffled with his handkerchief had been opened, and at last he saw his culprits face to face.

Both of them had jet black hair, combed back and slicked as if for a meeting of the aristocracy. One of them had a bulbous roman nose below two scrutinizing brown eyes, wearing a black coat and tie over a white shirt and brown button-down vest. His slacks were grey and he wore white spats over his black oxford shoes. The other had the same brown eyes but a straight nose, and wore a powder blue suit and pants, but the thing that set Seron affright was the gun in his hands.

It was a small submachine gun with a drum magazine, and looked to be new. He recognized the gun from its iron sights as the same one used in the shooting, the one that gravely wounded Reiner and now had him in a hospital, dead for all he knew. It was the same gun, the same gun used to incapacitate him that night when he awoke to find a strange car parked outside the residence hall. It was the same gun, the gun used by Roxchean soldiers in wars past against their Bezelese enemies. It was the gun of his culprits.

Seron quickly leapt through the hole in the wall the way a diver would into a pool and into the antique-filled cellar just as the man in the powder blue suit fired in his direction, ricocheting against the stones in the wall.

"After him! Don't let him escape!"

They dashed in, determined not to let their prisoner and key to the last scroll get away. However, they did not count on him making a way into the antique storage room, and now they were frustrated in their attempts to locate him. With so many knick-knacks and heirlooms spread out everywhere, there was as many hiding places for a would-be escapee as there were fish in the sea. As Seron hid behind a chest of drawers, he heard the culprits try to coax him out of hiding, but showing himself was the last thing on his agenda.

"Come on, now, Seron…you know how this is going to end."

"Yeah, kid. If you come out now, we can talk this over real nice-like."

_Like Hell._

Seron quietly crept for the hole he created and eventually to the opened door in the cellar that would lead him out of his prison, with only the thought of a helpless Meg somewhere in this house, tied up and at the mercy of captors occupying his thoughts and dictating his actions. He had blocked off all other distractions, from the decrepit nature of the cellar, the backs of his culprits heading away from him to the various assortment of antiques lining the room, with his eyes only on the hole he had made from his battering ram.

_Cuckoo! Cuckoo!_

Seron jumped behind another chest of drawers, and looked up to see a cuckoo clock on the wall striking the time, which was now 3 o'clock. He was right in doing this, as one of the assailants spun on his heel and fired in the direction of the sound, the blast of his gun echoing throughout the room creating a melody of terror as bullets ricocheted on the walls and splintered the clock.

"Don't get so jumpy, you fool! That was nothing but an old clock!"

Realizing this was his prime moment of escape, Seron got to his feet and started on his way to the wall when he felt something catch on his ankle, and heard a small scraping sound.

He looked to see his foot had caught on the hanging wire of a painting which had knocked it down with a loud thump, alerting his captors to his position. Sure enough, they turned around and saw him sprinting, trying to make a break for it.

"There he goes! He's doubled back on us, the little devil!"

They ran after him and fired the submachine gun as they went in attempts to stop him, sending bullets whipping past his hair and hitting the walls and beams, speaking with words he never heard before. Zip! Hiss! Snap! With a quick sidestep, Seron leapt behind a stone pillar, and looked for something that could slow their quick advance and found something that suited his purpose.

An old add-counter, an abacus, if he remembered correctly, dating back to the times before the modern slide-rules and number tables. If he could break the abacus, the small balls would act as marbles. A crude plan, but he needed any plan that would work in his escape.

He leaned over, watching as the culprits came speeding toward him like jockeys on their race horses, competing for the spot at the finish line. He counted the seconds and noted the paces of their feet, quickly calculating in his brain when he had to break the add-counter. It had to be perfect, as a second earlier would ruin the plan and result in his capture.

Three…

Two…

One…

With a sickening crack, the abacus broke on the stone floor, and scattered the small balls everywhere on the floor. Without a moment's notice to change direction, the two men slipped on the balls and sent them flying down the corridor, straight into a tall bookcase containing not just books but boxes of precious jewels, arrays of tin soldiers from days of horse and musket, and ships in bottles.

CRASH!

The bookcase fell down on top of them, like a great tree felled by a lumberjack. With the two men dazed from the collision, Seron took the opportunity to dash out of the storage room and through the hole in the wall, leaving the culprits in the dust. With a speed of an express train on the mainline, Seron rushed through the door and quickly shut it behind him, taking note to lock them in and take the keys with him.

"Now we'll see how you like being the prisoners…"

The matter of escape was done, he thought. Now to find Meg and contact the Newspaper Club. But he knew that to figure out where Meg was in a home as large as this was like searching for the needle in the haystack.


	7. Chapter 7: Rescued!

**Chapter Seven: Rescued!**

As Seron walked up the stairs, he was immediately greeted by the immensity of his assailants' abode. The entrance hall stretched out for what seemed like miles, floored by a long regal red carpet from the entry doors to the main stairway, flanked by two suits of armor carrying tall halberds from days gone by. To his right, was the open entry to a pristine library with what must have been several thousand books arranged meticulously in bookcases that seemed to reach the very sky, fashioned with leather chairs and ottomans on top of a newly cleaned and elegant olive green carpet floor with patterns of fleur-de-lis. To his left, a dining hall with glass cases protecting the finest silverware and china money could buy, enveloping a long mahogany wood dining table around which matching chairs congregated, with a cornucopia of wax fruit was the center of focus.

"Quite a lavish place for a pair of crooks," he mused to himself as he went up the main stairway. "Reminds me a bit of _my _home, except for the red carpet…"

He put away comparisons of this mansion to his, and set to the task of finding Megmica Straussky. Using his knowledge of a mansion layout plan, he reasoned that in the upper levels would be the studies of his culprits. Being the place of attending to business and welcoming guests with aforesaid business in mind, he could find a calling card, or at least an envelope that would give him a name for his captors. Once he had a name the rest would be easy. But what was more mind-boggling was where Meg could be help prisoner.

His first clue was the hard oak wood floors that he stepped on upon reaching the second level. He distinctly heard a chair being dragged across the floor when he spoke to Meg through the intercom; a chair being dragged on a carpet would produce no sound at all, or a very muffled one. Thus he looked for a room that had a hard wood floor to it. As for what wooden-floored room she was in; it was a matter of chance and luck. But he picked up his feet, in the interest of time, which he knew was of the utmost essence.

Every bedroom and chamber he entered had carpeted floors, which eliminated the idea of Meg being imprisoned there; he could not bear to think of the image of her tied to a bed, powerless and immobile. However the idea of Meg, completely helpless…

He shook his head violently to put that image into the incinerator of his mind; he had to focus! Meg was counting on him to find her! What good would fantasizing do?

Peeking into ever room, he called Meg's name, hoping for an answer to his calls. But time and again, no answer came. Quitting was not an option however, as he kept up his search and his calls to Meg, praying that she would respond.

"Meg!" he bellowed again, being sure to temper his volume so as not to alert any servants or housekeepers to his presence, which was undoubtedly unsolicited. "Meg, can you hear me?"

No answer, just as before.

"Meg, where are you? Tell me where you are!"

"Seron?"

At last, he rejoiced silently. Now this whole thing could go a lot faster, and they could get out of here.

"Tell me where you are, Meg!"

"H-hello, I-I'm in here…"

He followed her voice to a chestnut door, and opened it. He found what appeared to be a study, complete with an office desk, inbox, outbox, letter opener, writing board, and day planner. But that was not what caught his eye.

There, bound to the chair by wrists and around the abdomen was a teenage girl with indigo hair, braided and pigtailed. She wore a beige sundress with a cream bodice and puffy frilled sleeves, while on her dainty feet were sandals embroidered with silver buckles. Over her eyes was a white handkerchief, wrapped in a blindfold fashion. She was shivering in her sandals, the epitome of fear. Her dry cracked lips quivered as he entered the room, and he heard the faint and eager sound of her gasp of breath at the utterance of her name.

"Meg!"

She turned in his general direction as he came rushing to her side, immediately looking for anything to set her free.

"Seron! Thank God you're here! I thought for sure you'd be killed!"

"I'm all right," he reassured her as he went to work setting her free. "Did they hurt you at all?"

"N-no, I don't think so…"

Seron scanned the desk for a knife, a scissors, anything to cut through the bonds that were holding her back…and making her even more attractive unintentionally.

Although he had no interest in such things as bondage, and he was by no means a sadist, he had to admit there was something appealing about Meg being completely helpless. Perhaps it was because she had always looked rather meek and docile, even if he knew that the truth was not quite in line with the image. Her bonds actually hugged her figure tightly, making her curves all the more pronounced and noticeable…especially around her chest, as the ropes served to shape up her bosom, forming an impromptu push-up brassiere. She was already fairly developed in that anatomical department, and now her bonds only enhanced her feminine features.

Seron once again shook himself from his stupor. What the hell was he thinking, especially at a time like this? They needed to escape, and fast!

He found a letter opener, but something else that would be of definite aid.

On the desk sat a white envelope sealed with a stamp of the Roxchean Armed Forces: The Arrow of Theron. On the front of it read, in bright blue ink:

_Fred and James Church_

_Pavlovsky Manor 12000 Greenvale Road_

_Fredonia Republic, Roxcheanuk Confederation_

The second he read their names, he remembered when Reiner had been fatally shot, and in a last gasp pointed to the tall church opposite his flat with a weak, shaky hand. In an instant, two threads were tied together, and the mystery had been solved. He snapped his fingers in revelation.

"Of course!" he said, with a rare display of emotion in his voice as he picked up the letter opener and took to the work of cutting bonds.

"Of course what?" Meg asked, still bewildered and unaware.

"This was what Reiner meant when he pointed to the church across the street; he was giving us a clue to the names of the attackers: Fred and James Church!"

Meg wriggled slowly out of her bonds as they were cut one by one and lightly pounded her fist into the palm of her hand, seeing Seron's revelation.

"Then that means we have faces, names, and an address! We can call the police and get them taken in!"

"Exactly, but first we need to call Larry and the others so they know where we are. Maybe then they could bring the police with them."

Meg nodded, and as soon as she was cut free, removed her blindfold and went directly to the black phone on the desk, dialing the number for their school. Meg took Seron by the hand, gripping it tightly in fear and anxiety. A bead of sweat fell from his brow, but he squeezed her hand in reassurance, calming her in the knowledge that they have reached the end of one mystery.

The waiting tone reverberated in her ear, proving to be torturous. She greatly feared that no one would be there, as it was the weekend and many students may have gone out or gone home for the day; if that was the case, they were in far deeper trouble than either of them could imagine. Suddenly she heard a click, signifying that someone picked up on the other end, much to her rejoice.

"_Academy operator."_

"Hello, could you please connect us to the Newspaper club room? And please be quick!"

"_One moment please."_

Again, the waiting tone resumed, and Meg groaned, pounding her foot on the ground in frustration. Seron stifled a laugh at seeing his darling Megmica Straussky, who was just before helpless and vulnerable in ropes and bonds, was now pouting like a spoiled child who did not get her favorite food served at the dinner table. Perhaps it was that childish and youthful sensibility that had attracted him to her, or it was her unrestrained adventuresome spirit, or her innocent and humble demeanor. Whatever the reason, he still felt happy with her, unlike with anyone else in this wide world that was slowly stitching itself together.

Meg sighed happily when she heard a click, signifying the line had been picked up. At once, her voice was greeted by the mature voice of Larry Hepburn, Seron's best friend.

"_Hello?"_

"Hello, Larry?" she responded with urgency, knowing there wasn't much time. "It's us, Meg and Seron!"

"_MEG? You've been captured too?"_

"Yes, unfortunately. Listen, we're being held hostage here by the men who gunned down Reiner; we've got their address and names. You have to get everyone over here quick!"

"_You've been taken by the gunmen? Hang on, let me get a pen and paper…"_

"Be quick about it, Larry!" Seron called over the phone. "We don't have a lot of time; I locked them in the cellar but who knows if they have gotten out by now?"

At that moment, a butler with a blue and black striped vest, black slacks and a white shirt entered the room, and instantly recognized that the two young people in the study were not any he had seen before.

"Excuse me, but might I inquire as to who you two are?"

Meg, knowing they were cornered, struggled and fumbled with her words, trying to search for a good alibi to explain how they had gotten free of their respective prisons.

"We…um…err…"

"We're the two new secretaries for the Church brothers," Seron dissembled, saving them from a certainly deadly fate. "Didn't they give you the memo?"

"Oh," the butler said in surprised with raised eyebrows. "Forgive me; I was not told. Please, as you were."

"Thank you, sir."

Just as it seemed they were in the clear, a voice blared over through the intercom speaker in the study; it was definitely one of the Church brothers.

"_Sanders! There are two young hoodlums loose in the house. Get them before they phone their accomplices quick!"_

Their cover had been blown, and Sanders leapt out at the two of them. Seron managed to land a straight punch to the jaw and tried to hold him back. He turned his head around and called out to Meg, urging her to hurry.

"Meg, give Larry the address! Now!"

"Larry listen; we're at Pavlovsky Manor on Greenvale Road! You need to get everyone over here now! Hurry!"

"_I didn't hear you, Meg. Where did you say you were?"_

"Pavlovsky Manor!"

"_Pendanski Banner?"_

The fighting grew louder as Seron struggled to hold back Sanders, and prevent him from attacking Meg. Sanders stomped on Seron's oxford-encased foot, which sent him hopping back, and Sanders tried to make a break for it. However, Seron grabbed him by the belt on his slacks and pulled him back, saving Meg. Sanders threw a swift kick across Seron's face in an attempt to shake him off, but Seron managed to pull him back and land a jab on his right cheek, and attempted to hold him down. Meg struggled through the noise and commotion to get Larry the right name and address.

"_Mean pale toad? What?"_

"No, Larry. GREENVALE ROAD! That's the name!"

"Meg, get him to write down the address!" Seron urged. "I can't hold him back much longer!"

"I'm trying!"

Sanders broke free from Seron's hold and made a charge toward Meg, who was still struggling to get the name right for Larry. What was wrong with the connection that he couldn't get a simple address?

"MEG LOOK OUT!"

Meg turned and saw Sanders leap out at her and try to grab her. Thinking quickly, Meg used the phone receiver as a cudgel and struck a blow to Sanders' head, knocking him out temporarily. She went back to the business of getting Larry the address necessary to come save them.

"Larry, listen carefully. The address is…hello? Hello?"

There was no answer on the other end of the line; in fact it seemed the line had been cut between them. It was then that she found that the phone's cord had been torn in two thanks to her quick knockout of Sanders. She turned to Seron, who was staring in awe that Meg, innocent, meek and delicate Meg, could hold her own in a fight. She laughed nervously.

"Guess I uh…heh…don't know my own strength…."

"Never mind that," Seron tempered her. "We have to get out of here, fast."

"But what about Larry and the others?"

"We just have to hope they got the address. We need to go now!"

Meg nodded, knowing there was nothing more that could be done; the only thing of importance was escape. She bolted for the door and Seron followed her, seeing that the only reliable way out of this mess was to head for the front entrance and find the nearest road. Just as they reached the door, however, it burst open and sent them slamming into the wall as the door swung to the left on its hinges.

Thankfully, the door now provided a hiding place for them as the Church brothers rushed in to see if they could catch their young prisoners.

"Blast it, they got away!" the brother in the powder blue suit cursed. "They knocked out Sanders, too, the little bastards…"

The door hit Meg hard on the forehead, and she was left in a slight daze from the blow. She fell backward into Seron's embrace, and as the Church brothers deliberated on what had happened to Sanders, Seron took a chance to truly feel Meg's warm body, and realize just how physically mature her form was. He gently whiffed her dark mane and smelled the faint scent of spring flowers. Irises, if he was correct. Her waist was narrow and lean, while her hips were wide and strong. Meg's back arched inward, taut and firm as evidenced by peering down the back of her dress. No longer after he noticed all of this, he felt Meg begin to slip out of his grasp and slide to the floor, threatening to blow their cover.

Seron caught her again, and noted how soft her…chest was?

Faced with the possibility of capture, he grabbed her as soon as she started to slip, but his hands anchored their grip in the least desirable of places: her round and growing breasts. He thanked God that Meg was not awake, lest she slap him and reveal their location. As he attempt move away from her chest area, his hand caught her bosom in an inadvertent squeeze. That triggered a soft moan from her which he stifled and saved them again from discovery. At last, Meg awoke, just as Seron's arms had curled around her stomach, holding her steadily as she regained her footing.

In the meantime, the Church brothers were making inquiries with Sanders in an attempt to gain a lead on the location of their young captives.

"I'm sorry sirs," Sanders apologized after coming to. "I tried to make a grab for them but the girl hit me on the head with the phone…"

As they continued their conversation, Meg and Seron took it as their cue to leave as quietly as they had come. Shifting out from behind the door, they made for the exit as they were asking Sanders of their whereabouts.

"Do you know where they went before they knocked you out?"

"I'm not sure sir…it all happened so fast…I…"

Sanders looked over the brother in the black suit's shoulder and saw the two youngsters attempting to sneak out, and immediately pointed to them.

"There! They were hiding behind the door! They're making an escape!"

At that, Meg and Seron bolted like frightened deer and slammed the door behind them just as the Church brothers sprinted towards them. They heard a loud thump which could only be the brothers slamming into the shut door, buying them a small window of time for their escape.

The trick halted the brothers briefly, but they soon regained their footing and bolted out of the study and down the tall stairway, intent on catching the two teenagers before making off with their names and address to the authorities. Like leopards running across the savannah in pursuit of prey, they made their way to the bottom of the stairs when suddenly, out of nowhere and without any prior warning, a long thin wooden beam sprung out from the right through the pillars supporting the railings. With no time to change direction, the two brothers tripped across the beam and fell hard onto the marble floor. The brother in the black suit caught a glimpse of the two young people bolt out the door and into the manor grounds.

"Thanks for the halberd, old man!"

The black suited brother looked to the right and saw what they meant: they had used a halberd from an old suit of armor at the foot of the stairs to serve as a trap for them. He groaned in frustration as he and his brother struggled to their feet before setting off again in pursuit.

Outside, Meg and Seron chose to head in the direction of the forest, hoping to lose them among the thick of the woods. Meg ran ahead of Seron, surprisingly covering a lot of ground even though she wore high-heeled sandals, obviously in preparation of the date they were to share today. Sadly any chance of those plans becoming a reality was in serious doubt, especially for today. Seron in the meantime brought up the rear, always looking over his shoulder at the large and stately manor in the distance, wary of the idea that the brothers would follow the two of them into the woods.

Sure enough, right on schedule, the two men came out and scanned the grounds in search of them. The man in the powder blue suit pointed in his direction, spotting him. He raised his submachine gun and fired off a few rounds. Seron took that as his cue to run as the sound of the gun firing followed after the bullets cut off the branches of a tree and clipped past Seron's air with the buzz of a hornet. He needed to catch up with Meg and formulate a plan before two bullets found a place between their eyes!

He caught sight of the back of Meg as she ran through the woods, her footwear making her sprint all the more difficult as she audibly huffed and panted, out of breath from running for so long. She turned her head over her shoulder and petitioned for a halt to Seron

"I knew I should not have worn high heels today! Seron, can we please stop running now? I seriously need to—OOPS!"

She was still calling to Seron when she felt her foot caught on something, sending her careening over an exposed root of a large tree. Landing ungracefully straight on her face, she groaned in pain and was left once again in a daze. Seron, fearing the worst, rushed to where he heard her voice last, hoping that she hadn't been caught in some trap.

He stopped short of a large oak tree with an exposed root, and found her…but not as he expected her. She had tripped on the root, and the force of her fall had flipped up her dress when she landed in the dirt. As she writhed in the earth and tried to make sense of what had happened, he had a clear view of her exposed backside to his inquisitive and dissecting cobalt eyes. God must have it in for him today, if he kept placing them in these kinds of situations.

Her panties were rather fancy given the situation for the two of them, but perhaps it was in preparation for something else. Trimmed with frills around the leg holes, they seemed more appropriate for an ending to a romantic date with a lover than utilitarian things for everyday use. They were primly white, in fitting with her innocent but vulnerable nature, and plastered with tiny pink hearts in a uniform pattern, stretching across her buttocks and around her wide hips. If there was one thing that Seron loved about her, it was her taste in fashion, even if this was not precisely the kind of fashion he looked for.

Suddenly his cobalt eyes darted to the exposed root, then back to her…rear, and blushed bright red. Shaking himself violently in order to regain control of his senses, suddenly an idea came into his head as to how to catch their criminals and turn the tables on them. Meg got to her feet as if on cue, rubbing her head and pulling the hem of her dress back down over her backside, concealing what should never have been revealed. In the meantime, Seron walked over to a tall elm with a low branch and pulled it back like a slingshot. He ordered Meg to do the same.

"Go to the oak tree you tripped on and pull the branch back. We can surprise them."

Meg nodded, not even bothering to ask him what he may or may not have seen, as it was not important right now. She stuck behind the oak and pulled hard against the branch, waiting for Seron's signal to release.

Seron looked off into the distance and saw the brothers searching for them in the forest, now both carrying weapons; the blue suited man still toted his submachine gun while the black suited one now brandished a semiautomatic pistol, which he panned from left to right in search of the two young people. He realized he needed to lure them into their trap if he and Meg wanted them caught, and so signaled to them with a loud and shrill whistle.

Sure enough, they took the bait.

"That little fool must have a death wish!" boasted the black suited brother. "This way!"

They ran through the small pathway, unknowingly heading right into Meg and Seron's booby trap. Seron motioned for her to hold on releasing the branch until he gave the go-ahead.

"Here they come, Meg. Don't let go until I tell you. We'll take them down together."

Meg smiled and nodded, trusting in Seron's judgment and planning. His intelligence and quick thinking had taken them this far. There was no reason for her to doubt him, especially not now. As the footsteps grew louder and closer, Meg dug her feet into the earth and readied herself to let go on his cue, which was fast coming.

"On three. Ready?"

"Yeah…"

The brothers were now not a few rods from where they were, and still oblivious to the trap that was in store for them. Seron counted down.

"One…two…three!"

Both released their branches and scored a direct blow to the faces of the brothers, sending them flying back down the path they took, and landing hard on their backs. Their weapons spun through the air as they lost their respective grips on each, and Meg and Seron seized the opportunity to turn the tables on their captors. Meg grabbed the submachine gun by the strap and brought it around to aim straight at the nose of the black-suited brother, and Seron caught the pistol, pointing between the blue-suited brother's eyes. Both of them scoffed while they were still on the ground.

"I bet neither of you can even fire the thing."

Seron turned to Meg and she to him, and both nodded, as if in on a joke neither of the brothers got. Turning back to their new captives, Seron fired a shot into the ground near the blue-suited brother's ear, while Meg fired off two rounds near the black-suited one's collar.

"You were saying?" Both asked in unison.

The brothers sighed and stood up, raising their hands in surrender, knowing they were cornered. All four walked back through the woods in the direction of the manor, as Seron said they planned to wait there and chat before the authorities arrive. There was a lot to discuss, as both of them indicated, and the brothers had a lot of explaining to do before this was done.

As they neared the manor, Sanders peeked out of the window and saw his two masters being walked back by the "young hoodlums," carrying weapons with them. Sanders knew he had to act quickly and bring the situation back in favor of his masters, lest the hoodlums turn their guns on him next. In the meantime, the two teenagers continued to usher the brothers forward, being sure to brandish their respective weapons if one of them even so much as looked over his shoulder at the two of them; this time, they would not escape, and this time, they were going to get to the bottom of this mystery.

As Seron passed below a window, Sanders smacked him on the head with a vase, but it failed to break, and Seron was only left disoriented for a few precious moments. Meg turned and fired the submachine gun at the vase as Sanders attempted to bring it down on her friend again, breaking it into a thousand pieces. Now that their backs were turned, the Church brothers tried to make a break for it, and bring the odds back in their favor. The brother in the blue suit made a grab for his submachine gun, but Meg turned around just in time to butt him in the head with the stock of the gun, sending him staggering back and falling on the gravel path. Meg aimed her gun right at his head so as to deter him to make any further moves. The brother in the black suit sprinted past Seron as he regained his bearings and turned around the corner of the manor. Seron fired his pistol in his direction in an attempt to stop him.

"COME BACK HERE!"

"Seron! Meg!"

Forgetting himself for a moment, Seron spun on his heel and saw three familiar figures turn the corner and approach them from Meg's direction. The help that they needed to catch and secure their culprits had finally arrived.

Larry led the pack in his sleeveless green shirt and matching pants tucked into tall jackboots, wielding a new semiautomatic rifle used by the Roxchean Army, an SVT-40 if he remembered his designation correctly. Following close behind him was Jenny in a red sweatshirt and black miniskirt, her flashbulb camera ready in hand to capture anything worth reporting. Bringing up the rear was Natalia wearing a sleeveless white sweater, tight-fitting black denim jeans and platform shoes. She didn't seem to be armed with anything other than herself, but it was not as if none of them intended it; this entire ordeal caught them all unprepared for a quick reaction.

"Larry! You came!" Meg exclaimed in joy, smiling wider than a child awaking to her birthday.

"Yeah, sorry we're late," Larry returned, cocking the SVT-40. "It took a bit of time to decode what you were saying through all that noise and commotion."

"We got some news for you guys, too!" Jenny jumped in, excitedly, readying her camera, presumably for the reaction of Seron. "We got the names of the culprits!"

"I know who they are," Seron said hurriedly. "But one of them is about to get away; we need to—"

No sooner had he spoken when a blue sedan sped past him with a zip, and all caught sight of the black-suited culprit at the driver's wheel. It was the same blue sedan that zoomed towards them that day in the capital, and it was from this same sedan that the shots were fired that day in the Capital that wounded Reiner and almost killed the six teenagers when they were so close to finding the perpetrators of everything. If there was any doubt in the mind of any of those young people that these were the culprits, that doubt was quickly wiped away with the passing of that blue sedan.

Seron aimed his pistol at the speeding car, trying to find a good place to shoot and a right time, but it zipped faster out of sight than a shooting star on a wintry night. He sighed in defeat, fearing that may be the last chance he would get to capture him and turn him in. That is, until Jenny spoke up, offering all of them hope.

"I brought my car with me, Seron! We can still catch him if we hurry!"

Without any further qualms, Meg and Seron sprinted and left with Jenny and Natalia to catch their perpetrator. Seron called out to Larry as they departed for the car to pursue, and ordered him to stay there and interrogate the brother in the blue suit, as they would need all the information they could get.

Jenny's car was a sporty vehicle, a gift given to her by her parents for her 15th birthday. Painted a sleek and striking silver, the roadster was capable of more than 125 kilometers per hour and boasted an excellent fuel economy of 50 kilometers per one liter of petrol. In all, it was a well-rounded and durable car capable of many years of service, but seemed out of place for a high-speed chase with a criminal of dishonorable repute.

All of them jumped into the roadster with Jenny manning the wheel, Natalia in the front seat, and Meg and Seron in the back, still carrying their weapons as they were sure to need them in this fight. Jenny at once turned the key to the ignition and the motor sputtered before starting, evident that the oil needed to be changed soon. The engine revved and roared as Jenny slammed her foot on the acceleration pedal, and without a minute of warning the car lurched forward before speeding out of the manor and down the road, heading west. As a way to pass time while they caught up to their ne'er-do-well, Jenny filled in Meg and Seron on the details.

"Larry called both of us and told us Seron had been attacked and we had noticed Meg wasn't around either. Natalia and me thought something was up with both of you going AWOL."

"We knew that it had to involve the perpetrators behind the shooting," Natalia put in, adjusting her spectacles.

Seron leaned over and spoke to Jenny, somewhat befuddled.

"But you could not have found us so quickly, with no leads and a crackly phone line."

"Actually, we waited a long time for any clues to turn up," Natalia explained. "We all gathered in the clubroom and went over any possible leads with the hopes that something might turn up."

"So _that's_ why you were all in the clubroom when we called you!" Meg jumped in, now seeing the pieces fit together.

"Correct. We went over what facts were at our disposal regarding the case, and had no trail to follow until you two called."

Jenny growled angrily as she pushed harder on the acceleration, the engine revving at a higher pitch as they sped along the roadway.

"That phone had such a bad connection! We could barely catch anything you were saying; I've got to complain to the communications department about that…"

"I think that was more a matter of me holding off a butler than any connection problems…" Seron said quietly, surprised that Jenny would not even consider the problems they faced just now.

Meg giggled in response to Seron's cutting remark, and picked up on his comment.

"So what happened when we got disconnected from you?"

"Well, we obviously only caught a little bit of what you were saying," Natalia continued, "so we tried to decipher what you said by going through all the possible names you might have said. That's when Nicholas called from the hospital in the Capital, saying that Reiner had come to from being in a coma and talked."

"He gave everything," Jenny said, picking up on Natalia. "Names, an address, and even their business."

"Fred and James Church," Seron remarked blankly, knowing the answer already.

"Right. So once we had the name and address, we knew exactly where you were and headed over as fast as we could. We had to leave Nicholas with Reiner in case he gave anything else useful on the Church brothers."

"Speak of the devil," Natalia called, pointing to out in front of the roadway. "We've caught up with him now."

Sure enough, Meg and Seron looked to see the blue sedan whizzing along the roadway out in front of them, perhaps by about half a kilometer. Upon seeing the blue sedan, Seron readied his pistol, and noted the direction they were all heading in, and the gravity of the possibility if they don't capture him.

"He's heading west towards the river…"

"Then that means…" Jenny formed slowly as she put more pressure on the pedal.

"He's trying to leave the country!" Meg shouted, seeing what was at play here.

"Exactly," Seron concurred, rolling down the window in preparation for a roadside battle. "We need to stop him before he hits the border or else we'll never get him."

"Speed up, Jenny!" Meg urged, reaching for her submachine gun. "We're finishing this here and now."

"That's the spirit, Meg!" Jenny laughed. "Hang on tight; this is going to knock you off your feet!"

With that, Jenny pounded her foot on the gas pedal and sent the car flying down the road, quickly gaining ground on the fleeing Church brother. Meg rolled down her window and cocked her submachine gun, knowing there would be bullets flying and, at worst, blood flowing in this battle. But she had no fear, since she knew what was at stake here, and knew what could be lost if she failed here. If Seron was by her side, then she would come out on top with his help. He had never failed her before; why would he now?

They were within not a quarter kilometer from the blue sedan when a shot rang out like a church bell on Sunday, as the Church brother opened fire from his car first, sending Meg and Seron back into the roadster. The bullet ricocheted off the left side mirror and made a dent in the chrome plating with a loud ping.

"This guy means business!" Natalia yelled. "Be careful, Meg!"

"Jenny," Seron ordered, his face not cluing anyone into tension and anxiety that had a stranglehold on him, "I need you to get alongside him. Try to grind him off the road."

"You got it! Hold on!"

Jenny floored the accelerator and came up alongside the blue sedan. The Church brother fired with what appeared to be a pistol from the side, and punched a neat hole through the two front side windows as the bullet passed right in front of Jenny's and Natalia's noses. They chose to back off, but not without bestowing a retaliatory blow.

"Hey, Church?" Jenny called out jeeringly. "You hungry? How about a snack of this?"

With that, Jenny slammed the body of her roadster into the sedan, sending sparks flying in myriad directions and landing on the hoods of both cars. Jenny quickly backed off, sliding up behind the sedan before consulting with Seron.

"Any closer and that bullet would have drilled through my nose!" Jenny remarked. "I can't get any closer, Seron. It's going to be up to you and Meg."

Meg and Seron both nodded, knowing what must be done as they leaned out their windows and aimed their guns for the blue sedan, knowing to make each shot count, as they had limited ammunition as it was. The shots had to be just right if they were to make a difference in this case and stop this criminal from escaping the country.

"Enough games, you two!" Natalia called out impatiently. "Take this guy out!"

Seron fired first, and sent a bullet puncturing the windshield of the sedan. Meg managed to lodge a few rounds into the left side view mirror, cracking the mirror and rendering him blind. However, as they were about to fire again, Natalia suggested a change in strategy.

"Try and take out his tires! Jenny, lay into his wheel arches!"

Seron shifted his fire to the front left tire, aiming for the hubcap. One by one, he popped off the rivets of the hubcap with his pistol until the bare bolts of his tire were exposed. Meg fired at the tire but missed every time, her shots just a hair's breadth short of her intended target. Sparks flew as metal contacted metal with the only agents being death. Just then, a sign whizzed past them, seemingly indicating distance to a new location. Seron called out to Jenny and Natalia,

"Did either of you see what was on that sign we just passed?"

"I think it said Mayfield, 10 kilometers," Natalia answered.

"We need to get this guy before he hits the border!" Jenny cried as she kept her foot pinned to the accelerator.

"He's not getting out," Meg said, her voice strong and determined.

She aimed her submachine gun again, and fired a long spray, what must have been 15 bullets. Miraculously, she took off the hubcap of the rear left tire of the sedan, exposing it to a hard and merciless grind by Jenny, who rammed hard into the sedan. Just then, the Church brother leaned out the window and fired three shots, breaking through the windshield of the roadster and sending slivers and shards of glass flying through the interior of the car like deadly shrapnel. Thankfully for them, however, no one was seriously injured. Jenny, however, felt the need to retort back to those shots.

"YOU'RE PAYING FOR MY REPLACEMENT WINDSHIELD!

On the other side of the roadway, a roadblock had been set up at the small town of Mayfield by the local department of the State Police. Thanks to the information provided by the Newspaper Club, the police had a positive ID on the Church brothers and were intent on catching the lot of them. 5 cars had been brought up to the eastern entrance of town, as they had received reports of a blue sedan heading westward with the intent of illegally crossing the border. Their only orders were to wait and stop any forced entry of town, by the blue sedan or any other car. They didn't have to wait long for their target to come into view.

Meg and Seron's party were still having trouble getting the Church brother to stop the car, but they had made decent progress on chipping away at the car's defenses: the hubcaps were off, and the rear bumper was all but gone, while the windshield was almost destroyed from a hailstorm of bullet holes, thanks to Meg's handiwork. The Church brother was now driving almost blind, and had to risk sticking his head out the window and face the bullets of Meg and Seron. His only hope was to shake them and outrun them to the border. However, that was a plan that was as likely to succeed as sending a man to outer space.

Not more than five kilometers ahead, he saw a roadblock being set up by the State Police, denying him a route of escape. Knowing he was cornered, he chose to gamble on blitzing through the roadblock and shake the youngsters that would not get off his back. It was unlikely to work, but he had run out of options at this point.

The sedan suddenly slammed into the side of the roadster, grinding against the wheels and tearing off the hubcaps as one would peel the skin off an orange. This reckless move would be costly, though, as Jenny quickly retaliated and continued to ram into the wheel arches of the sedan, sending it swerving away from them. Determined to keep up the pressure, Meg and Seron struck the killing blow by firing into the two left tires, puncturing them with a loud bang one after the other. Now with nothing to control the car, and facing the oncoming fire of police determined the hold the road blockade, the Church brother could only try to steer the sedan into something that would soften the crash, but alas, his search for such a barrier was in vain as the right side of his sedan crashed into a large and sturdy telephone pole, twisting the chrome and leaving the sedan totaled.

With their opponent cornered and left with no avenue of escape, Meg and Seron jumped out of the roadster and approached the sedan, holding their guns to the Church Brother inside the car. Seron, in a firm and authoritative voice, the likes of which no one had heard since the start of this most exciting adventure of them, ordered,

"Out of the car, Church. Put your hands in the air slowly. It's over for you."

The Church brother slowly stepped out of the car, knowing there was nowhere left to run; he was defeated, and the treasure which was surely hidden in the scrolls that started this whole escapade would be beyond his grasp…for now, at least.

As the police took care of the finer details of arrest and setting a date for trial, Meg and Seron took to the business of searching the mangled sedan for any sign of that which started this mystery. Every time they looked and in every place it seemed like God was against them.

Not in the shotgun passenger seat.

Not in the rear seats.

Not in the glove compartment.

Not on the dashboard.

Both of them knew for sure the Church brothers had to have Seron's ship as well as two others, as they were needed for the scrolls to tell the location of the treasure. The treasure was no good to him if he didn't take them with him over the border while he planned to get the third scroll. There was only one last place to look.

Seron led Meg over to the trunk of the car and opened up the back door with the help of a police officer who had confiscated the car key. With one solid push, both of them opened the trunk and found to their surprise…

…a ship wrapped in old newspapers and foam sheets. After some unwrapping and close examination, Seron recognized the ship as his. Now, with his gift to Meg back in his possession after more than two weeks at solving this mystery, he presented it to Meg as stately as one would present a gift to royalty.

"I believe," he stated matter-of-factly, "this belongs to you, Megmica Straussky."

Meg greatly accepted the gift, and after an impromptu curtsy, she set it down on the hood of the car, and ushered Seron closer to him for a gift of her own to him.

"And this belongs to you."

Without giving him a chance to reason why, Meg embraced Seron in a deep and caring hug, the kind that tried and trusted friends give to each other to symbolize their bond. She whispered soft and sweet words in his ear, her faith in Seron crystallized through their brave actions today.

"You saved my life, Seron. I thought for sure back in the manor that both of us were going to die. You saved me, and we managed to solve the mystery too. I'm forever grateful to you…"

Then, out of absolutely nowhere and with no afterthought on Meg's part, she laid a gentle and soft kiss on his lips, as a way to seal their bond after this, the greatest trial their relationship had ever faced. Seron hesitantly stroked Meg's dark indigo hair and wondered if this was the right moment to release all he had pent up in his heart to her. They had braved through many storms, but this one pushed them to their limits. Always before their adventures had never crossed too far into the realm of danger, but this one not only crossed the line, but ran far ahead of it; it was truly the most dangerous mystery they had undertaken. Now with the worst ostensibly behind them, this seemed like the perfect chance to finally be honest, and seal at last their relationship.

"Meg…" he said in-between kisses, "There's something I want to tell you…"

"Yes, Seron?" she said eagerly, her lips parting from his.

"Meg…I always felt that…"

At that moment, a police sergeant came up to them carrying two rolled up parchments in his hand, the importance of both beyond his means of comprehension.

"Pardon me, you two, but we confiscated these two scrolls off the person of Fred Church. Think you could clue me in if it has any significance?"

Seron took the two scrolls, and examined them. Everything about them was the same. The same poem, written in old Bezelese. The same strange markings on the bottom, possibly a code that could give a clue to the location of the treasure. The same words, giving hints to those eager for adventure and hungry for riches. These were the other two scrolls they needed, and now everything was as good as a pirate's gold.

"It does have significance, Sergeant," Seron said nonchalantly, "but I'm afraid not for the case involving Mr. Church. It's for a case I and my colleagues in the Newspaper Club have been working on for a few weeks now."

"I see. So then what's to be done about them?"

"Just leave them with me; my club and I can sort out the details later."

"So be it, then. But good God, does this Church guy have quite a rap sheet facing him. Attempted murder, leaving the scene of a crime, blackmail, extortion, abduction of a minor, attempted coercion of a minor, aggravated assault against a minor, _and_ resisting arrest. Could easily get him 25 to 30 years in prison if he gets lucky."

"I'd rather he get life for what he tried to do to Seron and I!" Meg quipped, incensed at the prospect of him going off scot free.

"Oh he'll get his just desserts, young lady, don't you worry none. How long he gets is just up to the courts."

The sergeant bade the two of them good day, and left them alone again. Seron realized that although the worst was over, there was still a great deal ahead of them. Now that all three scrolls were in his possession, they could find the coordinates and plan an expedition to the treasure. What dangers would face them there? He knew not. But he was certain that he would not miss the chance then to let out all he had kept pent up inside him, and finally bring his relationship with Meg to fruition. It was with that thought that he and Meg confidently walked back to Jenny's roadster, climbed in, and said,

"We got what we need. Let's go."

The small band of youngsters drove off with their prizes in tow, confident that the road to the treasure would be much easier now. As they headed back to the manor to retrieve Larry, Meg struck up with Seron again, catching on his interrupted statement.

"You said that there was something you always wanted to tell me."

Seron blushed, but still kept his deadpan visage. He stumbled with his next words.

"I-I'll tell you l-later."

"I hope you do," Meg said slyly, her eyes narrowing. "We're friends, and friends never keep secrets from each other."

Seron scratched the back of his head and mentally noted that it would not be long before he would have to come out and open up like a book. Meg deserved nothing but honesty from him, and he would give her that and all the love he had in his heart when the moment finally presented itself.

"I promise I will. I made that promise a long time ago."

"I look forward to it, then. And by the way…"

Meg leaned in for a gentle, hot and tickling whisper in his ear.

"You owe me two things after today."

"And they would be?"

"First, a date with me in the Capital, uninterrupted. And second, 50 rubles for peeking at my panties."

* * *

><p>AN: And so our culprits have been identified, and both brought to justice! What is in store for Meg and Seron now? Find out next time, as the expedition to the treasure of the _Firefly_ begins!

Again, so sorry for the long delay, but I promise things will be better now. Please read, review, and alert this story to keep up with new additions!

Until next time,

Jordan


	8. Chapter 8: I'll Come Clean

**Author's Note: Better late than never as they say. This took me more than a full month to churn out, due to job-searching and planning a trip back to DC for refurbishing an old house. However, it's done. I think you will all enjoy how this ends, and be greatly surprised with some actions here. This is especially dedicated to my friend Ltscw1, who helped me write out this big piece of work. Many thanks, my friend. This is for you.**

**8/14/2013 Update: I got some time to edit and work on Meg and Seron again, and I saw that a lot of my chapters here are pretty long, so I decided to update these first. I am shortening the chapters to make them more digestible and staying below 10,000 words each chapter. The sequel to this story is coming soon. Look forward to it!**

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><p><strong>Chapter Eight: I'll Come Clean<strong>

In the aftermath of the arrest, things had quieted down for the Newspaper Club. They had been picked up by the police for questioning on the incident, and each testified fully and honestly. Meg and Seron by and large contributed the majority of the evidence needed for a conviction. As the police sergeant said to them that day, Fred and James Church faced a long rap sheet, including attempted murder and abduction of a minor on two counts. The Capital's magistrate ruled them guilty, and the sentence proved fitting: 50 years imprisonment with no bail. It would take a miracle to ever get them out of prison now.

With legal matters out of the way, there was nothing between the Newspaper Club and the treasure. In order not to attract more attention and to keep the main story a surprise, they were all under strict orders to not divulge any information about the treasure to anyone, even staff. It was a bit zealous on Jenny's part, but Seron recognized her reason; she didn't want word to get out and potentially to reach the Church brothers. God help them if they found out and tried to get between them and the treasure.

Spring vacation was almost upon all of them, and it was the perfect time to stage an expedition to find the treasure. It was quite a strange story how they came about the coordinates of it; during one of their daily meetings, the club had spent hours trying to figure out the coded message of the parchments, and had produced nothing. Nicholas was about to suggest quitting, when Seron discovered the secret, embedded in the poem:

_Three brothers joined three Fireflies sailing in the morning sun will speak._

He stacked one parchment on top of the other and held it before a lamp, allowing the "Sun" to speak, and retrieved the full coordinates, latitude and longitude, and pinpointed the exact location: a cove off Green Island, near the confluence of the river beneath the Central Mountains. It was with great rejoice and celebration that the location had at last been found, and now the groundwork for an expedition was set.

Larry and Nicholas were given the business of securing a ship and a possible security detail from the Roxchean army; one could never be sure if the Church brothers were clever enough to escape from jail and try to interfere with the Newspaper club in their search. Meg and Seron were tasked with planning the schedule of the expedition upon reaching the location of the treasure. As for Jenny and Natalia, they were to secure the finances necessary to fund their operation.

Meg thought it only appropriate to make a date out of it, considering how the kidnapping had ruined the one they had planned that day. Seron made no objections, as he was in need of some time to clear his head before embarking on an adventure which would surely encompass the entire spring vacation. Besides that, he had a much larger business on his mind, one that concerned matters of the heart. This time, nothing would get in his way. Not a kidnapping, not a shooting, not even Meg's bad habit of accidental exposure would stop him for what he planned today.

He figured that with the expedition only days away, he had to let her know why he had done everything up to now, how his pushing for a treasure hunt was motivated by more than just a friendship between them, but something deeper and more transcendental. This was more than a desire to help another claim one's rightful fortune. If he didn't come out to her today he would not do it for the remainder of the year, and he would only have himself to blame.

Too long had he held back and shut himself in from her. Out of fear, out of possible rejection, or simply out of cowardice and inactivity, he kept silent. He put a muzzle on himself for fear of what she may say in response. But in the last several days, he had gained confidence that there was something more between them. She had asked him for his company, they had supported each other when faced with danger, and he suspected the challenges were only going to get tougher when it came to finding the treasure. If something bad befell them, heaven forbid, he wanted to be sure she knew why he stayed with her, and why he fought for this so long even when he had no impetus for it.

The day had started innocently enough with Meg bidding her friend Lillia a goodbye and best wishes for her spring vacation; Lillia had told her of plans to travel to Sous-Beil aboard the Transcontinental Express. Meg was very flattered with the story, and although she said she wished she was in Lillia's position, in reality she was poised to meet Seron and lay out their own plans for spring break. Just as the two parted, she came upon Seron, waiting for her outside the boys' residence hall, decked out in his normal street clothes, the ones he wore on the day of their kidnapping.

"Have you been waiting long?" Meg asked innocently.

"Not really," he said morosely. "Just five minutes."

He paused for a moment, as if in contemplation of just what was going to take place on this outing for them. It would be a milestone for him as well as her, no matter the outcome. He had come this far with her; he was not going to give in to hesitation, fear or any other temptation to turn away the opportunity he had now.

"So…" he started, reticently, "are you ready for today?"

"Sure I am!" she chirped as they walked over to a student motorcycle, eager for Seron's plan.

In truth, she had something she wanted to say as well, but there was a time and place for everything, as her parents frequently told her. She held her piece as she climbed into the sidecar and awaited him to mount the driver's seat. The engine started with a hum and she posted her query.

"What's your plan for today?"

"You're the one who wanted to go into the Capital," Seron reminded her. "Where we go in there is all up to you."

Meg smirked, as if in on something Seron wasn't.

"So we can go anywhere?"

"Anywhere," he repeated. "You call the shots today. Wasn't that our plan?"

"Yes," she laughed. "I just forgot. I know a good tailor in the Capital. Why don't we make that our first stop?"

"Sure. Which street is it on?"

"14th Avenue and Blackberry Lane."

"We're already there."

With that, he sped onward, out past the gates of the academy campus and fast on the road into the capital. There were already signs of some traffic heading in, especially around the square, but he made note to avoid it and make straight for the tailor's. As they sped along, with only the rhythm of the engine being the music of this scene, Seron pulled money out of his pocket and offered it to Meg.

"Here, take it," he said dryly.

"What is it?" she asked curiously, unsure of what this was about.

"The 50 rubles I owe you."

"You owe me 50 rubles?"

"Yes," he said, blushing slightly while still manning his pokerfaced visage. "For peeking at your…underwear."

Meg cracked a smirk at Seron's hilariously literal mind. A smirk turned into a smile and gave way to a snicker. Then a laugh. Then a guffaw. Seron could be a riot, since he always took everything to heart, and was honest to the point of being blunt, but this topped any interaction he had with her.

"Is something wrong, Meg? It's the amount you asked for, isn't it?"

"It…it is," she laughed, "I just didn't think you'd actually pay me!"

"Oh…" Seron said, slightly befuddled. "I guess I should keep it for now, then?"

"How about this?" Meg propositioned. "I'm willing forgive your debt if nothing happens this time. But if something like that _does _happen, and you see me, then you have to pay…_double_."

Seron groaned at the prospect. The idea of spending 100 for a wardrobe mishap was not the most appealing, especially when he was sure this date would cost him far more. As if on cue, Meg added another condition.

"AND, whatever we spend on this date, you have to spend twice as much on our next one."

"Hopefully we'll head out on the river for the treasure before then," Seron muttered to himself.

They pulled up the motorcycle on a vacant lot where no parking toll was required, and took to their feet walking down the street to the tailor's shop on the corner. It was a rather busy day, as they pushed past people who looked to mute wares in shops that piqued their various interests. Who in that crowd could understand the two young teenagers that were embarking upon what was surely the greatest adventure of their young lives? Surely many of the men and women who shuffled past them were already well settled into their existences, having gone through the ropes of university, marriage, and finding steady work. Meg had only barely begun to discover all those things, while Seron was in the midst of learning an adult emotion.

As for what would await them in the aftermath of this great adventure neither knew, nor could they accurately tell. The only thing that mattered was both needed preparation for what was surely going to be the most monumental moment in their existences. Seron kept pondering and reflecting on just how he was going to break the news to her as they entered the tailor's shop, ringing the bell on the top of the door.

With the closing of the door, the sounds of clamor, chatter and the unknown waltz all city residents participate in was muted, with only the soft hum of sewing machines, the precise cut of scissors through fabric and the silent stare given by scrutinizing clothes designers. Meg suggested they split up, as she had something she needed to discuss with the owner of the shop, or so she said.

He thought nothing of it, and instead poked around the shop, looking for anything that might catch his fancy. There were all manner of men's and young men's apparel hanging around the shop; there was so much he thought he entered a warehouse by mistake. A few belts of dark colors, suspenders in bright ones, sports jackets of all sizes and slacks for all occasions. While he was here, there wasn't any harm in getting himself something as well; he was in desperate need for a new wardrobe anyway, and this trip down the river was the perfect time for one. He figured too if they were going to be official after today (hopefully), he needed something to reflect that.

Attention was paid to the slacks, as a way to transition from boyhood to adulthood. In the Maxwell family it was tradition for the boys to wear knickerbockers until they reached the age of 16. He was past that point now, but he didn't feel any different. Perhaps after coming clean with her, he'd be more inclined to feel mature.

His chain of thought was broken by a clerk that approached him.

"See anything you like, sir?"

"I'm looking for a pair of khaki slacks," he said unaffectedly. "I'm in need of something longer."

"I see," the clerk said with a smile. "What's the occasion? Birthday? Graduation?"

"I'm going on a trip with friends soon, and I need something new."

"Ah, a trip. Where to?"

"Down south. We're taking a ship on a tour down the river for about a week."

"So you need something more upscale, I take it?"

"Yes, sir."

The clerk led him to a long line of slacks, of differing shades and sizes. The clerk asked for his waist size and he gave it, indicating his was a rather average build, and the waist size could be smaller to accommodate. With scrutinizing eyes, as if he had spent decades at this job, he chose a pair of slacks and stood them next to Seron, trying to nail down the right color and type.

"For a trip south, you will need something lighter. The weather down there can be incredibly hot this time of year. Will you be stopping by Green Island by any chance?"

Seron raised an eyebrow in suspicion, thinking there may be something more behind this innocent-looking clerk. He prayed it wasn't because Meg had been blabbing about the trip to everyone she met; all were under strict orders to keep everything quiet.

"Yes," he answered. "Why?"

"There's a swimming hole that just opened up, so perhaps you would like your swimwear as well?"

Seron didn't like this clerk poking any further into the business of their trip, but before he could even mount a sophisticated rebuff, the clerk ushered him over to the swimwear section, which turned out to be varied. There were trunks as well as full bodysuits, of striped, polka-dotted and solid colored patterns. As the clerk expounded on the costs and benefits of each, he heard a soft call from Meg, asking for assistance.

"Seron…c-could you come here for a minute?"

Seron excused himself from the grip of the clerk and made his way to where he heard the voice…which turned out to be near the changing rooms. His entire body was suddenly filled with a sense of dread as to what would come next. He silently prayed to whatever God existed in this life that he would not be subject to something embarrassing.

"Is something wrong, Meg?" he asked plainly as he approached the room he deduced she was in.

"I need your opinion on something I'm thinking of getting for the trip…"

Seron breathed a sigh of relief, thanking the heavens that he was being spared this time.

"Sure, Meg. Can I see it?"

"Actually…" she said, sounding a little afraid, "could you come in and see it?"

Seron's face turned beet red. He looked around quickly to be sure no one was around; God forbid anyone catch them and get the wrong impression. They'd be thrown out of the store faster than the wind carries a paper bag aloft.

"I-it'd be better if you opened the door and showed me."

"Please come in, Seron? I could really use your help with this…"

The last thing he wanted was to go in, and possibly be caught in another scenario that would spoil the mood for the rest of their outing. He weighed his options and considered the chances that something would happen. Realizing that he couldn't just leave her there, he closed his eyes, held his breath, and went through the curtains, for better or worse.

"Seron?"

He opened his eyes, and revealed what was quite possibly the most beautiful thing he ever saw in his life.

There was Meg, her violet tinged hair done up proper in twin pigtails reaching down to her shoulders, her indigo eyes wide and quivering, as if from the cold. Her finger was held to her delicate lips which were shining under the store lights. But it wasn't just her herself that brought his attention, but what she was wearing, and, he assumed, what she needed help with.

It was a cute, yet enticing red and white striped two-piece swimsuit, which called attention to her maturing figure, which surprised even him. The top was hooked around her chest, and accentuated the two cones of her curvy round bust. It didn't help that her arm was wrapped just below it, showing it off further. Seron gulped a hard lump in his throat as his scrutinizing cobalt eyes traveled down further, covering what appeared to be miles of soft, supple and sensuous skin. Then he came to rest on the bottom, that hugged around her hips and left everything to the imagination, at least in Meg's mind. It was an image that would be common in a model magazine, advertising the summer beachwear, an image that Seron dared not put Meg in, but now he was face to face with the visage of Meg that lived in his dreams and called to him like a siren.

"S-Seron…" she said suspiciously, "where are you looking?"

"N-nowhere," Seron stammered, trying hard not to stare at the swimsuit. "What did you want help with?"

Meg blushed, and rubbed her forearm, further accentuating her bust. Seron bit his tongue in anxiety.

"I…wanted to get your opinion on this swimsuit."

"Y-you did?"

"…yeah. It's a new model for the summer. One of the employees called it…a bikini, if I'm saying that right. But it's rather showy…I don't know if I can pull it off easily…"

Seron resisted the urge to dip his gaze down, and found reprieve by gazing into the indigo eyes of Meg. Cheerful, carefree, joyous, and innocent Meg.

"You…look beautiful in it, Meg."

"You think so?" Meg asked, her cheeks red as roses in full bloom.

"I don't think it's showy at all. It looks really good on you."

"Th-thanks, Seron. I appreciate it."

Meg shooed him out so she could change in privacy. In the meantime, Seron just thanked his lucky stars he didn't have to pay for any of that. It was like a dream come true, and yet it was also a nightmare for him. His darling, pure, and lovely Megmica Straussky had a hidden side to her, it seemed. It was opening up slowly, but he knew it was there. And now his curiosity burned to know this Meg that had never before been shown the light of day.

Shortly after all this went through his head, Meg emerged fully dressed as she had been before. Seron, not wishing to be caught in yet another situation like that, suggested they go, thinking the streets would provide them some safety from further mishap. A tailor brought on his slacks and both paid at the counter for their respective purchases. After bagging them, they quickly went out the door at which point Seron had a matter he needed resolved.

"Meg, I have to know: why did you buy a swimsuit?"

Meg hesitated, as she didn't want to let Seron in on something that neither of them were ready for.

"There's a swimming hole at Green Island," she explained. "I figure that since we'll be in the area, we should partake. Don't you think so?"

"I'm n-not averse to the idea," Seron replied. "I j-just wonder if everyone else is thinking along the same lines as you are. Remember w-we'll be spending the majority of our time looking for the treasure."

"That doesn't mean we can't have fun in the meantime!" Meg protested. "This is our spring vacation, and vacation means having fun!"

"F-fair enough, I suppose…"

Seron was desperately on edge, fearing that time was running out if he wanted to finally make things clear to her before shoving off on an expedition that could easily go south. He prayed that Meg would be in inadvertent concurrence, and suggest a place of peace and solitude they could go to.

"I'm getting rather hungry, aren't you?" Meg asked, pushing away her violet-tinged hair.

"I _could_ go for some lunch…" Seron prevaricated, hiding his true intention.

"I know a perfect cafe near the square! Let's go!"

Seron had no qualms, with the exception of them plodding and pushing their way through the immense crowd that flooded the sidewalk. Meg could barely make her way through, carrying all the bags in her hands like bracelets up to her elbows. Just as she was about to reach the edge and join Seron at the motorcycle, a man in a blue suit bumped into her and sent her bags all over the ground. The man did not even bother with her and hurried on, and she scrambled to pick up everything that had fallen out. Getting down on her hands and knees, she filed everything into the bags as quickly as possible, turning away from Seron who had just gotten to the motorcycle.

As he turned, a strong gust of wind blew through the street without any warning. Before he could say anything, the wind slipped under her skirt and flipped it over…just as she was bending down to pick up a piece of clothing.

_Why did she have to wear a skirt?_

Her backside was exposed, and along with it her panties which were scaled down in style and flare from the last time he saw them. They were pale blue with white polka dots plastered over them, akin to something seen in a theatrical cartoon he saw recently. The leg and waistbands had a white frill and topped with a pink bow on the back. Charming, innocent, and yet attractive.

Seron did not dare say anything, for fear of the date being derailed just when it got started. The prospect of have to pay double was also hanging heavy over his head, but suppressed a lump in his throat as Meg continued to tend to the last bit of her scattered clothes before finally rising. The skirt fell back over her posterior and she walked over to him nonchalantly, noticing he had a bright red face.

"Is something the matter, Seron?"

"N-no, nothing. J-just rather hot out here…"

It was certainly hot, but not because of the weather.

Meg shrugged her shoulders and climbed back into the passenger sidecar, and Seron suppressed a want to gaze at her leg as she entered. He had to concentrate on what he would say to her. This had to be perfect! Nothing could stop him, not even a clothing mishap!

"So, to the cafe?" Meg asked.

"To the cafe," Seron confirmed.

"And Seron?"

"Yes?"

"That's 100 rubles."

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><p>They arrived at the cafe some time later, and now sat in a small booth with red leather upholstery, going over the plans they needed to cover all the ground possible in this expedition of theirs, the most ambitious of their lives.<p>

The two teenagers shared the same side of the table so both could see the map of Green Island and the surrounding area clearly. Maps were spread everywhere like in a mural on the wall of a great art museum, with each laying out the groundwork for the expedition that would yield one of the greatest treasures in history.

"I say the first place we should search," Meg said, pointing to cove of the island, "is the surrounding waters near the wreck of _Firefly_."

"That really depends on if we can get diving equipment from the Army," Seron tempered her. "Larry will know if we can or not."

"And when will we hear back on that?"

"I suspect around the time spring break starts. That's the only window we have to do all this."

Seron pointed to another spot on the map, this time it was Green Island itself.

"We have to consider that your grandfather might have hidden the treasure on the island as well. How long was he there after the _Firefly_ sunk?"

"He was there for three months if I remember correctly."

"That would have been ample time to bury the treasure or hide it somewhere. And chances are it's been left undisturbed ever since the armistice."

"Yeah it is a possibility. I don't believe that area is traveled much, if ever anymore."

"No, you're right. Since it falls inside the buffer zone, it won't be inhabited by anyone."

Seron was silently praising that nothing could happen inside the cafe that would interrupt his plan with her. He noted that he would have to get it off his chest before they left the walls as he pointed to another spot on the map.

"Hey, is there something on your mind? You seem to be thinking more than usual."

Seron looked up into Meg's indigo eyes, and could not believe his luck. Here now was an opportunity to come out about everything, to finally make known to her why he had undertaken this most daunting and most challenging adventure they ever faced. If there was ever a time he had to act, the time had come.

"N-now that you mention it," Seron stuttered, "yes. There is something I've been thinking about a lot."

"Oh? What is it exactly that you need to tell me?" she asked in curiosity. "You have seemed a bit off ever since our date started."

Seron gulped at that, wondering just how perfectly Meg seemed to read his mind. It wasn't just a matter of clothing mishaps that was ailing him this whole time, but there was something deeper tugging at his heart. It was time to get it out into the open, before this adventure may take away any chance for him to do it later.

"There's something I've wanted to say to you…for a long time. Long before I even joined the newspaper club."

"That is quite a long time to be waiting to tell me something," she responded as she felt her heart beats getting harder and heavier.

Was he finally going to tell her what she had been wanting him to say? Was everything she loved about him about to come to fruition?

"I..I-I know it is. And that's why I want to say it now, before anything else happens to get in our way."

Seron looked up and took in every curve, contour and feature of her innocent childlike face, bracing himself for whatever reaction she may give him. Success or failure, he had to say it now, or he would be hating himself for the rest of the expedition.

"Meg, do you remember how you always asked me why I was doing all of this? Why I was going out of my way to solve this case? Even when it had nothing to do with me?"

"Yes, I do. I have been rather curious about that."

Seron nodded, knowing that now was the moment, and if he botched it now he would have only himself to blame. He felt his heartbeat quicken and sweat form around his brow. He was almost about to collapse from sheer fear when Larry's words reminded him what had brought him this far and what he had to do now to relieve everything he felt inside himself.

When the time comes, don't hesitate. Just act.

"I t-told you once…it's because y-you're my friend. B-but the truth is…"

"Yes Seron?"

Seron inhaled deeply and braced himself for whatever would come his way.

"The truth is I love you, Meg."

"L-l-love me?" She stuttered out in response.

Her cheeks flushed and red, Meg twirled her petite fingers together nervously.

"A-are you sure?"

"Yes…I am," Seron responded, taking deep breaths in-between his words. "I have been, ever since I first saw you. I love you, Megmica Straussky."

Seron waited for a reaction, any kind, whether it was positive or negative. But Meg was struck silent, her eyes wide in surprise that Seron, easily one of the most popular if not socially awkward boys in the whole school was smitten with her.

"Everything I've done…from joining the newspaper club, from following all these cases that could've cost us our lives…from indulging in Jenny's wants of a good story…all the way to here, I've done it because I only wanted to be close to you. I've done it because I loved you."

"Y…you did all of that…just for me?" she said blushing even more as her heart raced faster.

"For no other reason than you."

Seron felt his mouth go dry as he felt his chance at happiness with her slip away. He had to know what she felt in her heart now! It didn't matter in the least what it was, but she had to know if it was still possible for him to hope for something between them!

"M-Meg, I know you said to me on our first date that… th-there was a boy you liked in school. H-has that changed at all since then? D-do you still like him?"

"Yes I do actually," she admitted with a shy smile on her face. "He's still very precious to me."

Seron's spirits sank, and he felt that chance of happiness quickly slip away. He sighed, knowing he was defeated.

"I see," he said resignedly. "If that's the case, I won't come between you two. I'm just happy you were able to hear what I had to say…and understand the reason I've undertaken everything up to now."

"No, it's fine," she said now giggling playfully. "You see…that person is here now."

Seron's cobalt eyes lit up like a beacon in the night. It couldn't be! Was this a dream? Was everything he had waited for and everything he had done up to now about to pay off at last?

"W-what do you mean by that, Meg?"

Reaching out and taking his hands into hers, she said softly,

"It's you, Seron. It's always been you."

Seron breathed heavily, as the parade of trumpets sounded in his head, sounding victory after a long and hard-fought campaign. A choir of angels sung beside the trumpets, creating a chorus of joy and exuberance, his cobalt eyes watered and he felt his lips quiver, the first time he was actually showing emotion to anyone, especially to her.

"Then…you…love me?"

"Yes, Seron. I love you so much it makes my heart race."

Seron buried his face in his hands, his breaths as heavy as iron. She loved him. This whole time when he thought she cared nothing for him, she did love him. There was something between them that nothing could touch. He dreamed about it so often, imagined what it would be like to feel her warmth, sense her touch, even take in her scent. The dream had come true, as he so often wished it would. Dear God, was he glad this was a reality and not some dream like it had always been.

"Umm…are you alright?" she said fearfully. "I didn't do anything wrong did I?"

Seron laughed for the first time in his life. What a strange and yet beautiful sound.

"No, you didn't Meg. You did everything right. You said everything I always hoped you would say. I just…I just still can't believe that this has finally happened. I thought for a long time this day would never come…"

"And whose fault is that?" she asked with an innocent smirk on her face.

Seron smiled. Another first for him.

"…Mine."

"Exactly. You know, it is rude to keep a girl waiting for so long. I was just about to give up on you."

The smile quickly dissipated, replaced by a shocked and frightened expression. He couldn't lose her, not so soon after finally achieving what he had sought for so long!

"I'm sorry, Meg. I have no one to blame but myself. I always feared you'd reject me just out of hand. Can you forgive me?"

"Only if you kiss me," she admitted blushing again.

Seron stammered and felt his entire body shake, but he had to pull through now. He had to show just what this all meant to him, and how he would not let go of her now that he finally had her. He inhaled deeply, bracing himself yet again for what would easily be the most difficult part of their entire relationship. But he told himself as he leaned over the table, inching closer and closer to Meg's charming, innocent and inviting face, that this would be worth it. That all he had to put up with, from the mysteries that sent him scrambling, to the field trips, to the continuous risking of life and limb would finally pay off in this one moment. Just when he was barely half an inch away from her lips, her insatiable plump welcoming lips, he quivered and shrank, and thought for a moment he couldn't go through with it. Just then she spoke.

"If you screw up this kiss," she giggled stopping him, "You owe me two hundred rubles."

"Well I can't let that happen," he whispered.

Ruling out any hesitation or fear he felt in his heart, his lips touched hers and his soul melted. For the first time in his life he felt complete, and felt nothing could touch either of them. What else mattered in this world? What of the treasure hidden somewhere on the island? What of the Church Brothers locked away? What about the ships that they had given an arm and a leg for?

None of it mattered, not as long as there was Meg in his life.

"And one more thing, Seron," she whispered upon his lips after their kiss.

"Yes, Meg?"

"I love you."

"I love you too. I always have, Meg. And I always will."

Nodding, she smiled blushing, never once letting her eyes break off from his.

"Actually, there is one more thing that you forgot to ask me."

"There is?" Seron said, somewhat confused. "What is it?"

"About me becoming your girlfriend."

Seron slapped his head, noting his denseness when it came to matters of courtship. That's one thing he would have to outgrow now that they were considered official.

"Yes…of course. Meg…will you…be with me?"

"Yes, I will. But that'll be one hundred rubles for your mistake," she giggled. "And you can use that by buying me dessert after our lunch."

"Boy, I'm going to be in debt by the end of this," Seron chuckled.

"You always will be when it comes to girlfriends. So you will now have to get used to that fact."

"I'll spare no expense for you, Meg. I've done everything just to be with you, after all."

"And yet you're still here. So that has to count for something am I right?"

"Indeed. And I'll still be here when this is over, and after we've come back."

There would be more to come surely after this, the greatest adventure of their lives. They would return to school, they would finish the year, and go to their own homes. Then by next fall they would be back again. Life would keep on moving, but he resolved not to leave her now.

"I just have to keep my wardrobe malfunction expenses to a minimum," he muttered to himself.

"We'll see how you handle that when we go swimming on our trip," she posed laughing.

"Perish the thought…" he said, mortified to even suggest such an eventuality.

That did bring up the issue of what would happen on the expedition; if they were completely open about their status now, what would happen? What if something came about to threaten them, even if the chances of that was low? What if the Church brothers broke out, and followed them, and threatened her for the treasure? Even if they were now official, they still had to be on their guard.

"Meg, when we go on the trip, we can't let anyone else know about us."

"Huh? Why not?" she responded. "I already told the others that I would try to confess to you today."

"You what?!"

"Oh come on!" she giggled. "They all knew we liked each other. It was just a matter of time if you think about it."

Seron knew she had a point. Larry certainly knew about his constant struggles to win her favor. Nicholas surely had caught on. But even with all of that, it was still too dangerous given what they were heading into.

"So don't worry, we'll be safe. I'm sure the others will remain quiet about us."

He sighed, easily seeing that she wasn't going to negotiate on this. It certainly was understandable, after being in the dark and being searching for each other so long. At last they found each other's feelings, and he couldn't give her up. He wouldn't risk her over the treasure that now sat somewhere waiting for them.

"I just hope so. I'd hate for one of us to be threatened for the treasure."

"Well we've been kidnapped and shot at so we've survived so far. All we can do is remain vigilant during our search."

"True," Seron acquiesced. "We've been in worse fixes before."

"Yes, so I think with this, we should be alright."

"Yeah…"

Seron smiled, and took her hand. How much he loved her, he could never capture in words. He'd have to write whole books to exude how much she meant to him now. She had changed him from a quiet reserved lad to a boy who was just beginning to come out of his shell. If he hadn't met her, chances are he would be the same person as always.

"Thank you, Meg. Thank you for making me the happiest I've been in my whole life."

"And thank you for finally making me the happiest I've been in a very long time."

"Really?"

"Really. Any girl would feel that way when the guy she loves tells her he loves her."

"It makes me all the happier that you do love me."

He gave her another kiss, slightly more passionate than the simple lip touch before. For so long he had to keep his love bottled up, and now it seemed to flow out of him like water bursting from a dam.

"Keep it up like that," she said whispering sweetly, "and you will be able to reduce that debt."

"Oh is that so? I wonder how far I can reduce it…"

A bit more zeal spilled over, as he let the emotions take him wherever they pleased. It was out in the open now, and this was something he all too often dreamed of doing. Giggling into the next kiss, she gently place a hand upon his cheek, responding to the love that they now shared as her heart somehow began to beat in sync with his.

"I want to stay like this for as long as possible."

"Whatever you wish for, we'll do. I am yours for the entire day," she whispered upon his lips. "Now can we order lunch please? I'm getting rather hungry here."

At that, Seron pulled away, blushing and hoping he hadn't alienated her by letting his emotions get the better of him.

"I'm sorry. Of course we can."

Giggling, she waved a waitress over to get them some menus and water.

"So what else are we doing today?"

That presented a new problem. Outside of planning the expedition and finally coming out, he wasn't quite sure what else he could do, since she had been calling most of the shots. It was her idea to come to the Capital, to get a new swimsuit, to plan the trip over lunch. He was hoping she had an idea.

"You've been taking me around the whole time. I assumed you had something planned."

"Nope," she said, shaking her head. "Now it's time for my boyfriend to show me a good time."

Seron thought on it for a moment. He really just wanted a place where they could sit and talk undisturbed. A place where they could finally let everything out into the open, and be free. A place where the only thing to be found was them. Them alone.

"I suppose we could go to the park…"

"Sounds like a nice place to start."

"Maybe after that a nice romantic dinner under the stars would be nice."

"Do you know a place where we could have that?"

"We'll figure that out later," she giggled.

"Fair enough," he nodded.

"I knew it would be," she laughed with an innocent smile on her face. "Don't want my first boyfriend to feel too overly pressured on his first date."

It was after this long conversation that went on into lunch and the dessert that still cost him a hundred rubles they went out, the expedition plans completely laid out. It was with a note of joy in his step that they climbed into the motorcycle to be taken away on another leg of this, their first date as a couple. It was as if he had been awakened from a long nap and had renewed energy. He smiled, he laughed, nuzzled her, kissed her, embraced her as if he knew the ways of courtship all along. Everything seemed new and bright thanks to her. The fortress he built around himself came crumbling down, showing to her his true self beneath the exterior of a cold, aloof school star.


	9. Chapter 9: The End of the Beginning

**Author's Note: Like I said previously, I had some time to edit and go back to Meg and Seron, and thought that before I posted the sequel, I'd edit this first to make it more easily readable. For all intents and purposes, this is essentially copied and pasted from chapter 7, just split in half to be digestible. Enjoy.**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Nine: The End of the Beginning<strong>

Meg and Seron came to a secluded park just on the outskirts of the Capital, and were delighted to find there wasn't a soul to be found anywhere, meaning the entire park was theirs until dinnertime. Just as both wanted it to be, to finally sort out all they had kept suppressed and hidden under lock and key.

Both walked hand-in-hand, not minding the slowly sinking sun or the stiff breeze that blew across their faces. For the first time in their lives they were happy and complete. In the meantime, he took the opportunity to ask some questions he needed answered.

"Meg, why do you love me?"

"I could ask the same of you," she said softly.

"But I asked you first."

She giggled and began rambling on about what attracted her to him. Everything from his personality, his habits, and his adventurous tales and stories. All of which kept her interest him growing until she finally realized:

"It was all of those that made me fall in love with you."

Seron smiled, knowing that such an answer solidified his resolve that she was the one for him.

"Then that's why I love you so much, Meg."

"Now what about me?"

Seron began, and he made a note to go on for as long as he would, just to be sure she understand why she meant so much to him.

"Truth be told, Meg, you're the first girl I ever encountered who actually liked me because of who I am. Every other girl I've known at school just wants to be with me for my name or for the money I have. They don't see me as a person; they just see me as some boy who's the heir to a large company."

"Well then that's their loss. Because I saw the person you are on the inside. And that, my dear Seron," she said leaning up and kissing him once again. "is what I love the most about you."

"Now you know why I turned every last one of them down," Seron laughed as he ran his fingers through her violet-tinged hair. "None of them see me the way you do."

"That just goes to show you how blind all of them really are."

Seron embraced her tightly, as if she was a specter from the past, about to leave him. Every single emotion he ever felt towards her burst forward in one instant. His beloved, his despair. His method, his madness. His soul, and her soul.

"And just wait until everyone finds out once we're done with our adventure."

"I suspect every girl is going to hate you for taking me away."

"Don't worry. I'm already ready for it."

"Is that so? What's your plan for them, then?"

"Simple: To kiss you in front of the entire school assembly," she said giggling.

Seron blushed, shivering in his shoes at the very thought of their lips locking in front of the whole school to see. It would definitely ignite an insurrection the likes of which the academy had never known nor seen.

"That might start a riot."

"That's the point. Gives me an excuse to fight all of the other girls off of you."

"I wouldn't mind seeing that," he laughed quietly, conjuring up the image of Meg fending off waves of admirers and would-be suitors who were determined to wrench her away from him.

"But I even see you flirting with another girl, it's no kisses for a week."

"You don't have to worry there. None of them can compare to you, Meg."

In an effort to prove his words were sincere, he kissed her more passionately than he ever did before, now the bottle of emotions he had kept corked and sealed shattering. Her arms snaked around the back of his neck, she returned the kiss with as much feeling as before, holding herself up as best she could on the tip of her toes so she could reach his face as their lips remained attached in one of the most intimate kisses they had shared that day. But no matter how they kissed, each one still drove a shock through her body that she just couldn't resist even if she did try to protest.

"Your lips taste like sugar," he whispered quietly as they walked on through the park to a bench off in the distance.

"Funny as I haven't had any sweets today."

"That big ice cream sundae I paid 100 rubles for doesn't count, I suppose?"

"Well, I guess it does. I'll give you that much."

"So how bad is my debt now?"

"I do believe you've paid it off."

"That's a relief. I fear what another clothing mishap would have cost me…"

As if on cue, a stiff breeze blew past them, sending her skirt flying up past her waist.

"Eek!" she squealed out as she pushed her skirt back down to its normal height. "You didn't see anything did you?!"

"…not really," he prevaricated, fearing what debt he would incur if he told the truth about earlier.

"That's another hundred rubles, sir," she said looking up at him while blushing once again.

"I said I saw nothing!" he protested.

"You clearly said, 'not really,' Seron. That's different."

Seron sighed in defeat, wondering what on earth he could do to protect himself from further misfortune when it came to her skirt.

"If you kiss me again, maybe I'll let you off."

At that prospect, Seron jumped. It was akin to getting out of jail free, but he reveled in every touch to her lips. Smooth, silky, and always inviting, begging for more. He took her in his arms and pressed her lips to his in the most romantic way he knew how. His hands grasped at her back so she was pressed close to him, feeling the warmth of her body. The faint smell of perfume radiated from her as their lips connected in that age-old lovers' contract. It was a way he would gladly pay off any debt he had to her.

It was during that kiss when Meg opened her eyes for a few brief moments and froze when she saw two or three what looked like camera flashes go off behind them.

"Seron, stop!" she blurted out, panicked.

He quickly broke apart from her, wondering what set her off. Had the Church brothers already broken out so soon? Were they already upon them, waiting to kill them both and eliminate the obstacle between them and the treasure.

"Meg, what's wrong?"

"Something just flashed behind us! I saw two or three flashes go off!"

A flash? He had a sneaking suspicion he knew what that meant, as he turned around, to face the most mortifying sight in his entire life. Surprisingly, however there was nothing.

"It's quiet…" Meg whispered gripping onto him tightly. "Umm…can we maybe go to my place instead?"

"Yeah…I'm not feeling too hungry anymore. Why don't we just order out and I'll take you home?"

"Sure," she responded nodding. "That sounds fine."

They left the park as quickly as they had come, boarding their motorcycle and stopping by a drive-in restaurant just as the moon was beginning to rise. They didn't order much, since Seron was running short on funds anyway, but as they drove back to the campus Seron always was looking over his shoulder, wondering what those flashes were and exactly who cast them. He resolved to himself that if ever did find out who intruded upon their private moment, they would pay dearly.

* * *

><p>They arrived back at the dorm, but Meg wasn't content to part ways just yet. Instead, she offered him to spend their makeshift dinner in her dormitory. Of course, with it getting dark and night setting in, it would only come off as suspicious to any outsider. However, Seron desperately wanted to enjoy every moment with Meg he had before the time came when they would have to set off treasure-hunting. It was with that in mind he accepted her invitation and followed her to her dorm.<p>

"We'll eat up in my room if you don't mind."

"Not at all. I want to enjoy every last moment I have with you."

She unlocked the door with a key she kept in her breast pocket, and ushered him in, pointing him to a small table where they could sit and chat in peace. He passed by a chest of drawers where he saw the model ship that had caused this whole business sitting in quiet repose. He smiled.

"The ship makes a very nice addition."

"Yes, it does," she said smiling.

They sat down at the small circular table, and set to eating their minimal dinner. All the while there was a question nagging at Seron's mind.

"I wonder what those flashes were…"

"I suspect it was a camera."

"But whose? You don't think that…?"

"I don't think so. It's too early for that."

"I hope not. If I found out Larry had followed us, I'd wring his neck…"

Looking down at her dinner, she then said,

"I think it's someone who may know us or know who we are…but yet not one of our friends."

"You think it's…the Church brothers? But they were just put in jail!"

"No, there's no way. All we can do is wait until tomorrow and see what pops up. We have an assembly we have to be at anyway in the morning."

"I know. The last one before spring break starts. Speaking of, that's not the one you're going to kiss me at, right?"

"No, not after this incident."

Seron only nodded and took a bite out of his food, chewing it in thought, wondering who could have followed them and caught them in an intimate moment.

"I'm sorry that had to happen," he admonished after swallowing. "The date was going so well, too."

"We can make up for it here," Meg responded softly. "As long as I have you with me tonight I'm sure it'll be alright."

"What did you have in mind?" he asked curiously.

"Umm…spend the night?" she asked nervously. "I just want to feel safe tonight that's all."

Seron smiled, secretly seeing a dream of his come true. Though he had some slight misgivings about staying the night in a girl's dorm, the knowledge his presence offered her comfort ruled out any second thoughts he had.

"I'll stay with you as long as you want me to, Meg."

"Thank you. I have a spare futon in my closet you can use for tonight."

Their plan was set as they finished off their dinner, and talked on into the night. It was so long since they could speak in safety and in private, without any fear of interruptions from things like shootings and kidnappings. Seron could still remember the night when the Church brothers drove up to the boys' residence hall and shot him through the door, sending him to the doctor's office. A night with her seemed like bliss.

* * *

><p>The following morning the two showed up to school where they were greeted by their panicked friends at the gate.<p>

"What's wrong guys?"

"Did something happen last night?" Seron asked, concerned.

"Yeah, come with us!"

They said pulling their friends into the main entrance hallway of their school. Upon reaching the bulletin board for the school announcements, there was a poster sized picture of Meg and her new boyfriend locked into their passionate kiss at the park.

"This is what's wrong guys…"

"These things are posted all over the campus bulletin boards," Larry said looking to his friends. "And trust me when I say I had nothing to do with this."

"You better not have," Seron said between his teeth. "Nor anyone else in newspaper club."

"Looks like our secret is out," Meg said, gripping onto Seron's left hand. "And didn't I tell you to trust our friends?"

"I know," Seron said, weary of one more bad thing happening to them before even setting off treasure hunting. "I just wonder who could be behind it…"

"It's obviously someone that either hates us or…"

"Is jealous of you two," Larry interjected.

"But who?" Nicholas pondered, as lost as the rest of them were. "Who could it possibly be?"

"Yeah," Natalia rejoined. "I can't think of anyone outside of the Church brothers, and those guys are behind bars now…"

"Whoever it is," Jenny said with a fire in her voice, "they're gonna pay for doing this!"  
>"Well in any case we'll find out later!" Larry reminded them all. "We have to get to the assembly before we're late."<p>

"Yeah," Seron recounted. "At least after this assembly the break starts. We can figure it out then."

"I sure hope so," Meg said holding onto his left hand securely. "I feel like everyone is watching us now."

Seron patted her hand, and protectively led her to the assembly hall, following the rest of the newspaper club. Even though he felt as helpless as she did, he had to give her some comfort.

"We'll get to the bottom of this. One way or another."

She nodded as did the others. Sticking together as a group, they picked a spot to sit before the assembly started. It was in the far right corner but it was still back enough to keep everyone's eyes towards the front and off of them. After so much had happened to them in the space of a few weeks, they could greatly use less attention. Seron had a fear that this was all connected to their mystery behind the ships somehow, while Meg had a far more sinister fear, that something much larger was at work than the simple business of finding a treasure. They kept their respective theories to themselves however, and patiently waited for the assembly to begin. The last one they would have to sit through before spring break.

"It's probably the same thing they tell us every year," Meg whispered. "Stay out of trouble…always study hard…"

"Your life is just beginning…" Seron continued, listing off all the platitudes he had heard from these things before. "The future is there for you to grab…you are in charge of your own destiny…"

"Same stuff every time," Larry said smirking while shaking his head.

"Would it kill the school to come up with a new more exciting speech to give us before we head off to break?" Jenny asked complacently. "It's enough to make me find the speech writer and shake him up."

"Maybe the treasure hunt will give us our own speech to write," Natalia snickered, adjusting her glasses.

"Maybe," Meg whispered, "to tell everyone to create their own adventure."

"I'm sure the writing staff hasn't used that yet," Nicholas noted to himself sarcastically with a hint of rueful truth.

At that moment, the lights went dim except for a single spotlight shining onto the stage. Seron quieted everyone as the entire hall went silent, awaiting for someone, anyone, to step onto the stage and begin the assembly.

"As typical of the student council president," Larry whispered quietly.

Seron's hands curled into fists of frustration, as the wait seemed agonizing for them, sitting there in anticipation of an assembly that probably would never get off the ground. All of this was taking time away from solving an important mystery!

"Can't they ever be on time?" Seron complained.

"Council president is coming up now." Meg whispered covering his hands with hers.

His fists unwound themselves and grasped Meg's delicate palms, as they watched the president, a 17-year-old brown-haired female in her final year, approach the podium along with her cohorts. They strutted across the stage like peacocks, lost in the illusion they held any actual power. They were as powerful any student in that hall, mere figureheads to feed into the facade of student power.

"Let the clichéd speech begin," Natalia quipped expectedly.

The others nodded in agreement and for the next hour the student council, principal, and counselors all laid out their speeches, much to the chagrin of the students who had to listen to them. Every member of club was especially tense and eager to leave as soon as possible. Seron kept looking at his watch, anxiously eyeing the second hand as it made one full revolution around the clock face. Then two. Then five. Then ten. The continuous passing of the minutes, and the incessant droning of the staff and student council only served to aggravate him more, seeing precious minutes slip away that would be much better spent with Meg.

"Get the forsaken point, already, will you?" Seron grumbled to no one in particular.

"Relax," Meg whispered. "Being tensed up won't get us anywhere right now."

He sighed, knowing she was right on this, but yet it didn't take away from his frustration. It was bad enough they had to deal with kidnappers, shootings, and stolen ships, all in the space of mere weeks. She leaned on him instinctively, which made his entire body melt like butter, and the droning of those on stage started to fade away.

An hour later the entire school was finally able to leave the hall, everyone looking tired and bored as if they had just been put through a wringer of final exams that they had not planned on.

"That was a waste of time…" Larry sighed.

"An understatement if ever there was one, Larry," Seron retorted plainly. "At least it's over and we can get to the expedition."

"After we find out who took those pictures of Seron and I," Meg quickly reminded him.

"I don't even know where to begin with that," he sighed exasperatedly. "It could be anyone in this school."

"What do you think it is?"

"Who knows?" Nicholas said, throwing up his arms in despair. "Could've been a club, a lone student. Your guess is as good as mine."

At Nicholas' statement of resignation, a light bulb went off in Seron's head, and he instantly had lined up a list of potential culprits.

"Of course! Why didn't I think of it before?"

"Think of what?" Meg asked confused.

"Everyone, follow me. Our peeping toms might still not be far off!"

Before anyone could say a word, Seron dashed down the hall with Meg in tow and everyone else following behind him. Despite all of them asking him what could be behind this cheap attempt of tabloid reporting, he didn't say a word. The answer would be apparent to them soon enough.

"Where are you going Seron?!" Meg asked while trying to keep up with him and the others.

"You'll soon see in a minute. If my watch is right, they'll still be there…"

They turned a corner and came to a door marked "PHOTOGRAPHY CLUB" in large bold letters.

"Uhh…why here?" Larry asked curiously.

"Who else would be actively out at night looking for new photographs to fill their end of the year album?" Natalia answered, now finally seeing what Seron was on to.

"Yeah, but wouldn't they have better things to do other than wandering around a park?"

"You'd think that," Seron put in, "but just wait."

At that, he flung the door open and caught the entire club, consisting of six girls, in the midst of packing up their equipment for spring break. They evidently looked to be in a hurry, as if they knew what was coming.

"Can we help you with something?" a first year asked looking up at them. "We're just getting ready to leave for a hot spring trip."

"Yeah, you can," Jenny quipped, the fire in her eyes as red as her hair. "Mind explaining THIS?!"

She thrust a poster-size photograph of Meg and Seron together, lips locked, in the park outside the capital. With one look at that photograph, any color that was in their faces immediately drained.

"Oh, that," the leader said standing up from her chair. "That would be my work. Quite lovely, don't you think?"

"You certainly have funny ideas of what's appropriate for a picture," Seron snapped, seething anger in his voice, "especially one that's plastered all over the school!"

The girls all started shaking violently, not so much from the fact they had been caught, but they had never seen Seron so emotional before. Always he was a stalwart and distant boy of few words, who characteristically never approached the gentler sex, let alone accept any invitation of courtship. To see a raw impassioned side of him was not only frightening, but breathtaking.

"Well I, Saya Kobayashi, figured it would better if everyone knew of your little love affair."

"And what makes you think that?!" Seron demanded, glaring at her.

"You know as well as I do, Seron, that our two families have been in business with each other for years, or should I say…ever since our childhoods."

"Seron, what's she talking about?" Nicholas asked, now more intrigued than incensed.

"Oh, so you never told them huh?" Saya said smirking. "Maybe you should tell your little friends here who I really am, Seron."

Seron sighed, knowing that now he was in a very disadvantageous position, not just with everyone but with Meg especially. He felt the strong piercing gaze from her indigo eyes, begging to understand what was at work here. This was more than a matter of peeping toms. This was a matter of family politics.

"Well, come on now. Out with it," Larry said staring down his friend. "What exactly is she talking about?"

"I barely remember it now, but a long time ago my grandparents made a deal with the Kobayashi family. Since they were chiefs of staff in the Roxchean Army, they had control over the provisions sent to the Armed Forces in the War. The Kobayashi clan agreed to let the Maxwell Frozen Food Company be the primary suppliers of rations. That deal is still in place today, after the business went to my mother."

"There was one thing you left out Seron," Saya said smirking still. "Did you forget the deal our families made to let us marry after we graduate?"

"Yes, I did, as of last night," Seron said finitely. "And the deal is off, Saya."

"Oh is it now? I now wonder what our families will say."

"YOU CAN'T HAVE HIM!" Meg screamed out, clutching him by the sleeve. "Seron is my boyfriend and I won't, no, I _refuse_ to lose him to you!"

"You family is free to say whatever they want," Seron finished. "But my mind is made up. I love only one girl in this entire world, and that girl is Megmica Straussky of Sous-Beil."

"Fine, but I still have to give you this anyway," She said reaching into her bag and grabbing an envelope. "I was supposed to do it sooner but I think now is a better time."

"What is it?" Jenny asked curiously.

"Let him open it and find out," Saya retorted, handing Seron the white sealed envelope.

Seron took it out of her hand, and carefully opened it at the end, even though he had no reason to. He pulled out a letter, which turned to be a cordial invitation to the party celebrating their engagement. At the top of the letter was the Kobayashi family seal, at which his cobalt eyes narrowed in contempt. After staring at it for a long while, he looked up back at Saya, still smirking with a self-satisfied glint in her eyes.

"So what do you have to say now Seron?"

Seron crushed the paper in his hands, rolling it into a ball, throwing it back her way.

"Sorry, but I'm unavailable. I can't make the party."

"Well remember this, Seron; this will be the biggest mistake you've ever made in your life. Nobody turns their back on the Kobayashi family."

Meg then turned and left, pulling her boyfriend with her as well as the others.

"I will not lose to her, Seron. Nor to her family."

At that, all the members of the newspaper club cheered, but Larry seemed to be more fearful than jubilant. He looked as if he had heralded the doom of their entire expedition before it even began.

"What's got you down, Larry?" Natalia asked, looking over her glasses.

"I just realized that since the Kobayashi family are the Chiefs of Staff of the Roxchean Armed Forces," Larry slowly recounted, "they already know of our planned treasure hunt."

"Then that means this won't be the last we see of Saya," Jenny concluded.

"Exactly," Seron acknowledged with dread in his voice. "We're going to run into her again. And knowing her family, she's got her own expedition already planned."

"Do you think she'll try to stop us?" Meg asked worriedly.

Seron looked down at her, clinging to him by the sleeve of his shirt. There was a great sense of fear in her indigo eyes and her locks seemed to shiver in apprehension. He smiled comfortingly, and pulled her close to him, whispering in her ear gently.

"Not if I have anything to say about it."

She nodded, leaning into him further, scared of what she or her family might do, but at the same time, anxious for them to finally get going on their planned expedition. They had already defeated enemies in the form of the Church Brothers, but now gained a new one in Saya Kobayashi. One thing was certain: whatever lay in wait for them on the wide river that separated their two countries, whatever manner of treasure sat in repose, waiting to be discovered, there was nothing that would separate them from each other now, and no one would come between them or what was rightfully theirs.

"You two are old enough to elope aren't you?" Larry then asked right out of the blue.

Seron shot him a glare, as if to say this wasn't the time for such talk.

"Sorry I asked..."

"It's alright," Meg giggled. "Seron is just a little worked up that's all."

He sighed quietly, wondering how on Earth he could have let that family connection slip him completely. He could barely remember the old contract now, only recalling mere snippets from his mother, about how they were trading partners and nothing more. Marriage never was a word to come up in such discussions.

"That is an option for you two, though," Natalia offered. "I know as well as anyone the pressures of family contracts. Not fun in the least."

"Meg please tell me you're not contemplating that," Seron spoke with a sense of dread.

"That's for me to know and you to find out," she said innocently.

All of them laughed while Seron could only groan. There was far more in store for them than simply a cementing of a romance that had only just last night blossomed. There was another antagonist to beat, and the battleground on which that skirmish would occur was the blue waters of the Lutoni River, somewhere near Green Island.

"Well anyway, we should get ready for our trip," Larry spoke up as they exited the building. "The longer we wait, the harder it'll be to plan things out."

"Indeed," Natalia concurred. "So did you manage to get the Army to help us out with this?"

"We're going to need their help if we want to dive to the wreck," Nicholas added. "That'll be our first place to search."

"I'll make another call. I haven't heard anything yet."

"Do, and see if you can't find anything more on Kobayashi."

"Roger that."

As the others laid down the groundwork for their spring break, Seron led Meg away to one side, under the shade of a tall chestnut tree outside of their club building. He had to make everything clear to her, and that she wasn't just a one-time love that he would toss aside when Saya and he eventually crossed paths again.

"Meg, I'm sorry."

"Don't worry about it," she said shaking her head with a smile. "I'm sure it's as much a surprise to you as it is to me."

"It really is. I knew the Kobayashi family a little, but I never heard either of my parents mention anything about future marriage. Mother always said they were just business partners."

"Perhaps it's your fathers doing."

"I told you: It was arranged by my grandparents before I was born. Father has never been deeply involved in the business. But regardless, I swear to you I never had eyes on anyone but you."

"I believe you." she said softly. "But we better get back to the others before they get too overly curious about us."

"I'd rather stay here with you."

With no warning he cupped her cheek in his hand and gave her as deep and romantic a kiss as he could muster. This injustice could not pass, and he would do everything he could in his power to make this right. She moaned softly and felt weak in the knees, as Seron curled one arm into the small of her back, holding on to her tightly. Her eyes closed, arms wrapped around his neck, she returned the kiss with as much love as she could, using her arm strength to the best of her ability to keep herself steady. In that instant, all other things faded. Nothing seemed to faze them or take their attention away from each other. Not the calling of their friends. Not the whipping of the winds sending her skirt into a frenzy. Not even the clanging of the bells signalling the beginning of spring break. There was nothing else in the world but them, and all they desired was to stay by the other's side.

Forever.

"I love you, Seron," she whispered pulling back from their romantic moment. "Let's make this spring break one we'll always remember."

"Agreed," Seron replied smiling. "This'll be our greatest adventure."

Laughing, they walked back to their dorms, hand in hand, resolute in their goal and in their devotion to each other. Nothing, not the treasure, not the expedition, not even the new enemy made in Saya Kobayashi would come between them. All else that would follow would be faced together as one.

THE END

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: This is the conclusion of <strong>**_Secret of the Firefly. _****However I am sure many of you can guess that this is not the end of their story, but rather the beginning. It's been a very, VERY long time since I have covered them again, but now that I've finished one of my historical fiction stories, I'm ready to go back. I'm working on the sequel to this as we speak, but understand that it won't be up right away as I have some things on my plate. Namely I am heading back into grad school in a few weeks, and I need to study for an entrance exam. Instead, the story won't be made public until it is near completion and I have time to post on a weekly basis. Writing and then posting is not going to work out for the kind of life I am about to have. **

**Rest assured, this is not the last we will see of Meg and Seron. Their conclusion is coming soon.**

**Jordan**


End file.
